


The Thing with Feathers

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Face-Fucking, Female Ejaculation, First Dates, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Lesbian Ginny Weasley, Lesbian Sex, Literary References & Allusions, Ministry of Magic, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Quidditch, Romance, Strap-Ons, Vaginal Fingering, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-29 01:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: After Ron’s death, Hermione feels adrift with only her books and Ministry job to keep her grounded. This all changes when she accepts an invitation to Ginny’s Quidditch match and catches herself wondering: when did Ginny get so fit?





	1. Chapter 1

It was two years after Ron’s death when Hermione was able to face dinner at the Burrow again. For a better part of a year, Harry had begged her to come along, but she’d declined every time. She just didn’t have the strength to plaster on a smile and pretend that everything about the Weasleys didn’t remind her of what she’d lost.

She’d loved Ron. They’d been engaged to be married. They’d planned to have _children_ , but now he was dead.

When they’d stepped through the Floo, Hermione trembling all over, Molly had taken one look at her and burst into tears. She swallowed Hermione in a hug, running a hand through her hair, and said: “Good, girl. There’s a good girl.” Hermione had felt like a dog. 

Now at the dinner table, Hermione sat opposite Harry and Ginny, and tried to look anywhere but them. They were no longer together, but it was obvious that Harry still had feelings for Ginny, and that made Hermione uncomfortable. Side-by-side like that, they symbolized what should’ve been. At least they still had each other.

She caught Percy’s eye and he nudged the bottle of wine toward her. 

“There’s plenty for everyone,” he said kindly. 

“Thanks,” she said, and poured herself another glass. She meant to drink it slowly, but her stomach cramped every time she tried to swallow a bite of dinner. The wine went down a lot easier. 

“So, Hermione,” Arthur called from the end of the table, “how’s your parents? Are they still screwing metal into people’s teeth?” There was an excited gleam in his eye, and she sent him a grateful smile.

“They are now teaching other people how to screw metal into teeth. It’s quite interesting, because now everybody wants _invisible_ fillings.”

He was so astonished that he didn’t even notice that his elbow rested in his mashed potatoes. “Tell me: How do Muggles accomplish invisibility?”

After dinner she volunteered to help with dishes, and she was relieved when Ginny offered as well. She wouldn’t have to hide that she was completely pissed around Ginny.

“Why are you washing them by hand?” Ginny asked, amused.

“Oh,” Hermione said. “I hadn’t realized.” She tried to steady her gaze, but there was no hiding from Ginny.

Ginny smirked. “Here—I’ll do the washing.” She handed Hermione a towel. “You do the drying.” She stood close to Hermione, and their arms occasionally brushed.

Hermione couldn’t stop staring at her. Somewhere in her brain she knew it was an awkward thing to do, but she was in no position to stop herself. She’d never realized how tall Ginny was. No, that wasn’t right. She’d never realized how tall Ginny appeared. Ginny was only a little taller than the average woman, but she had the body of an athlete, and this made it seem like she loomed over Hermione.

“You’re so tall,” Hermione said, and giggled. _Dear God, just be quiet. Don’t embarrass yourself more!_ her sober-self insisted. 

Ginny watched her with a bemused smile on her face. She seemed to be enjoying Hermione pissed, but also didn’t know what to make of it. “It’s not often I see you like this,” she said.

Hermione tried to wave dismissively but forgot she was holding a plate. It slipped from her fingers, and Ginny had to use her _phenomenal_ reflexes to catch it.

“Wow,” Hermione whispered.

“On second thought—why don’t you leave it all for me to do?” Ginny said.

“No! I couldn’t do that!” Hermione’s eyes were big. “I—I’ve promised to clean up and that’s what I’ll do!”

“No, no, I got it.” Ginny grinned at her again. “You just stand there and look pretty.”

Hermione squinted at her. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No!” Ginny said. “I’d never do that!” 

They were quiet for a while. Hermione took large gulps of air in an attempt to steady herself. With flicks of her wand, Ginny washed and dried all the tableware. Cups and plates and bowls danced in the air; damp rags splattered soapy water as they chased after the cutlery. 

Ginny said: “You should come to one of my matches.”

“Sure,” Hermione said, knowing she probably wouldn’t.

“I’m serious!” Ginny sucked on her bottom lip. “It would mean a lot to me to see you there.”

Hermione didn’t understand. She’d never been into Quidditch, and Ginny knew that. Harry entered the kitchen, carrying a few overlooked cups and knives.

“Harry’s going to be there,” Hermione said slowly, trying to recapture some sobriety. “You don’t need me there if he’s there. He knows way more about Quidditch than me.”

Ginny frowned at her. “But I want you there.”

“Yeah, you should come. Just keep your criticisms to a minimum,” Harry said cheekily.

Hermione huffed and took a deep breath. It was important for her to say this next bit properly. “Certain aspects of Quidditch are quite dangerous. I refuse to ignore that.”

“Yes, but maybe try not to bring them up _every time_ you watch a match,” he said.

Ginny gave him an annoyed look. “Don’t listen to him. You should come! It’ll be fun!”

If Hermione had been someone else, she would’ve responded with something like _Promise?_ or _What do I get in return?_ But she wasn’t somebody else. She was tired and overwhelmed, and she just wanted to go back to her empty flat with its mountain of books and balls of cat fur.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, and smiled faintly.

Harry whispered in Ginny’s ear: “That’s a no.”

Hermione looked away.

*

When Hermione arrived home, she stumbled out of her Floo and landed face-first on her rug. Her cat Elizabeth greeted her by sniffing around her face and licking her forehead.

“Thanks, Liz,” Hermione said, her voice muffled. She didn’t really have the will to raise her head. She took out her wand and summoned the things for her tea. Her floral teapot glided from the kitchen to her rug and began to pipe with steam. A ball of loose leaf Earl Grey rolled through the air and dropped into the teapot to seep. Hermione dozed off; she awoke a few minutes later to her teacup nudging her head.

“Shoo,” she said, because Liz was trying to lick at her tea. She took a sip and grimaced: no sugar. She sat up and tapped her wand against her cup. She sipped again. That was better!

Her flat was cluttered with wall to wall books. Books had saved her after Ron’s death. They became her companions, her obsession. She sought out poetry collections written by renowned female writers. In the morning she read a poem with her coffee; at lunch she read between bites of sandwiches and hasty gulps of tea; at night she curled up on her sofa and read until her eyes grew weak, until she was nodding off between sentences without realizing it.

Some poems made her laugh. Some made her yearn for love. Some made her cry. The best made her do all three; the best made her tremble with tears for reasons unknown to her. Quiet descriptions of forests on fire, mothers falling backward, the intertwining of papercuts, the salty sea, and the unspoken terrors of childhood.

No poet hit her like Emily Dickinson. She supposed there was a reason why her work had lasted for almost two centuries. The imagery was quiet, playful, utterly heartbreaking. Hermione murmured lines from Dickinson’s work in the queue at the supermarket, at her desk while she read over document after document, in bed at night as the empty night pressed against her eyelids.

Her favorite poem was “‘Hope’ is a thing with feathers.” She’d memorized it like a monologue; she repeated it in the shower, the hot spray on her back, the taste of stinging salt in her mouth. She hugged herself, trying to remain calm, as she whispered, “ _Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul_ . . .” With hope she could endure anything. She’d known that at seventeen hiding in forests and facing down cackling murderers bent on scarring her flesh. And she knew that now as a twenty-something who’d lost her future.

With hope she could accept that Ron was never coming back. She’d made good progress, too. She now saw possibility in her future. 

After his death she’d gotten into the habit of sharing a bottle of wine with herself and thinking about what her life would’ve been like if he’d lived. She’d done this more times than she cared to admit. She’d stumble to her sock drawer and pat along the bottom for her engagement ring. At first she’d done this to hurt herself. In a strange way it felt good to be reminded of everything she’d lost. It’d made her feel like she was being loyal to Ron. It’d comforted her to look back. But now she held the ring in her palm and felt relief. She couldn’t explain why, but she was glad that she wasn’t married to Ron. She wasn’t glad that she’d lost him—no, of course not—but he’d wanted so much from her. She really didn’t know what would’ve happened if he hadn’t died.

Hermione finished her tea and sighed. She had to pee but really didn’t want to stand up. She took out her wand and crafted a walking stick right out of thin air, because she was a bloody witch and could do it. Laughing, she hobbled her way to the toilet, her mood already lifting. No matter what happened to her, no matter what atrocities she witnessed, she would always be amazed and grateful to have magic. Being Muggle-born, she knew she would _never_ take her magical abilities for granted.

A while later she was in her cat-pattern nightgown and snuggled into bed. An obstacle course of books surrounded her bedside tables. She checked her wand to make sure her alarm for work was on. Then she closed her eyes, sighing. She thought she’d immediately fall asleep, but no: She thought about how Ginny’s arm kept brushing hers. Ginny really did have lovely eyes. They were a lighter brown than Hermione’s; in the sunlight they were almost caramel. Ginny was also ridiculously fit. Hermione should’ve been jealous, but she wasn’t. Not really. She liked that Ginny was so fit. She liked knowing that she could casually stand close to somebody who was incredibly attractive. She liked sneaking glances at Ginny’s strong biceps; she wondered if Ginny would ever let her touch her arms. Would it be weird if Hermione asked? Probably. Ginny was like her younger sister.

*

Before work the next morning she popped into the shop around the corner to grab her usual small coffee and apricot Chelsea bun. She was in good enough spirits. The sky was grey, the air misty on her cheeks, and the slight chill felt good in her lungs. She was wearing her favorite jumper and her hair was wild and bouncy, which in turn made her feel a bit wild and bouncy.

The shop was crowded. Hermione expected this. She always left her flat early so that she would have enough time to get breakfast no matter how long the queue was. This usually meant that she arrived at the Ministry a good thirty minutes early, which was fine. Hermione loved her job.

She grinned warmly at Freddie, the barista. “How’s your mum?”

“She’s feeling a lot better! Thanks for asking. The usual?” Freddie returned her smile, the piercing on her upper lip catching the electric light.

“Yep!” Hermione felt her cheeks warm a little. She loved these small everyday interactions. They comforted her like a hug from her mum or rereading a favorite book.

A while later she had her coffee and bun. She snuck into the side alley, wedged the bun into her mouth, held her coffee tightly, then Apparated to outside the Ministry. She entered the Ministry and her back straightened; coming here always felt like docking at shore after being at sea for months. Work kept her sane. Work made her feel valued. Through work she would change the world for the good.

Hermione didn’t know what she would’ve done if it weren’t for work. She supposed she would’ve slowly lost her mind like a character in a Jean Rhys novel. She already liked wine a little too much; all she would’ve needed was a disposable income and a penchant for never leaving her house.

She took the lift down to her office. She made sure to smile at everyone. She truly believed in the power of first impressions.

Her office was small but efficient. To other people it might appear chaotic, but she knew the location of every note, of every official document, no matter if it was stuffed in a drawer or trapped beneath twelve bright orange files. Her assistant wasn’t in yet, so she unlocked her office and went in. A handful of departmental notes fluttered around her head, their wings torn or missing from squeezing beneath her door. 

With a swish of her wand, she drew back the heavy curtain on her fake window, and sighed happily. She knew she was quite fortunate to even have a window in her office, and at the moment dampened London buildings stared back at her. She loved the view because of its authenticity.

She allowed herself to sip her coffee and watch the grey drizzle for a minute or two; then, turning back to her desk, she rolled up her sleeves, curled her hair into a high bun, and got to work on the guest lists for the VAL (Vampire Awareness League) benefit.

An hour or so later, her assistant knocked on her door and entered. Hermione had taken to calling her assistant Mrs Danvers in her head because she found her so intimidating. It was so uncomfortable to have an assistant that was twenty years her senior.

“An owl arrived for you, Miss,” Mrs Danvers said, even though Hermione had asked her repeatedly to call her by her first name. “Miss” just made her feel like she was being waited on by a nineteenth century maid.

“Thank you, Barbara. Just put it on my desk.” Hermione made sure to smile gratefully. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for her to receive owls at work, so she paid it no attention during the twenty minutes it took her to finish up comparing notes on the old and new guest lists.

When she finally took up the owl she saw that it was from Ginny. She groaned. She had yet to read a single word in the note and she could already feel the pity oozing off the parchment. She unsealed the owl and a pink ticket fell out. 

_I wasn’t joking about you coming to my match_ , the owl said. _I’ve included a ticket for tonight. Harry and Dean’s going to be there, but why don’t you come find me after? We can go for drinks. – Gin._

Hermione palmed her face. She didn’t want to go and she didn’t understand why Gin was being so insistent. She wanted to write back and say something like: _Truly, I’m OKAY. I don’t need your pity. You don’t need me there_. She sighed. She knew it would be rude to not go. Gin had been pestering her for months to attend a game, and it was time that she just got it over with.

She fiddled with the ticket, frowning. The Harpies were the all-women’s Quidditch team and _of course_ their tickets were pink. Hermione was surprised the league let them wear proper kits instead of forcing them to fly about in just their bras and knickers. She imagined what kind of crowd an all-women’s team attracted, and shuddered. Probably nothing but pissed men shouting vulgarities. Loads of arrogant brutes licking their lips at Gin and comparing her arse and tits like they would compare the flying speed of her male counterparts. She honestly didn’t know how Gin could stomach it.

Hermione honestly didn’t know how _she_ was going to stomach it. She groaned again and rested her head on her desk. Why couldn’t she just be left alone?

*

When the end of her work day arrived, Hermione was sweating from nerves. She fanned herself with two files and cast a cooling charm around her head. It was no good. Her face still felt too hot, her breathing too constricted.

She could make up an excuse again. Ginny wouldn’t care. She had a match to play! She wasn’t thinking about Hermione! She wouldn’t ruin Ginny’s evening if she didn’t go; Ginny had loads of mates who’d get drinks with her.

But—Hermione hated backing out of things, and she’d done it too many times to Ginny. She’d never want Ginny to think her a coward or a bad friend. She really did want to support Ginny, but she didn’t understand why this support had to be at a Quidditch stadium. Couldn’t she just make Ginny dinner in the quiet privacy of her own flat and be her confidant who offered perspective and reason during times of crisis?

Sighing, Hermione sadly packed up for the day. If she was serious about truly supporting Ginny, then she had to be there when Ginny needed her, not when it suited Hermione. Ginny had asked her multiple times to come to a match, and obviously Quidditch was a very important aspect in her life. Hermione had to respect that.

Hermione locked up her office and paused to say goodnight to Mrs Danvers. She smiled but Mrs Danvers only looked at her sternly.

“I hope you have a good night, Barbara,” Hermione said.

“You too, Miss,” Mrs Danvers said, and Hermione heard: _“It’s no use, is it? You’ll never get the better of her. She’s still mistress here, even if she is dead. She’s the real Mrs de Winter, not you.”_

Hermione snickered to herself on the way to the lift. The novel _Rebecca_ was one of her favorites and sometimes she couldn’t help feeling like the naïve narrator struggling to fill the shoes of everyone who came before her. Having an awkward relationship with her assistant really was nothing to laugh about, but she was determined to see the humor in things. Ron would’ve wanted it.

On the main floor of the Ministry, Hermione requested a portkey to the match. While it was being made, she busied herself in the toilet’s mirror. She really wished she’d known about the ticket this morning so she could’ve packed a nice dress and boots to change into. She’d worn this jumper so many times that it sagged a bit around her chest. She frowned at her hair. It was tangled and unmanageable; and it would take far too long to subdue it with magic.

She shook her head. Why did it matter? Ginny had seen her in terrible clothes loads of times. How many times had they slept in the same room together, and Ginny had woken up to find Hermione with bedhead and ache crawling up her face?

 _Oh well_ , she thought, and went to see if the portkey was ready.

When she materialized in front of the stadium, she was confronted by a horde of fans and memorabilia sellers. All around people blew into shrieking pink horns, and Hermione had to clap her hands over her ears. She allowed the wave of people to move her toward the entrance; the stadium looked like a gigantic sea shell that glittered and popped from all the sparklers and flashing cameras. Hermione was in awe. Ginny worked _here_. 

By the time Hermione found herself at the seating area, she was a bit annoyed by all the jostling and elbowing, but her mood lifted when she got a good look at the crowd: there were so many women and children. She relaxed immediately, but she still hoped her seat wasn’t surrounded by a bubble of screaming eight year olds. She showed the usher her ticket and was surprised to be directed upward where all the elite, private boxes loomed over the lower seats. 

When she entered her assigned box, its lavishness made her cheeks warm. Velvet curtains framed the box’s opened face, the walls were paneled in rich oak, and the ceiling had intricate geometric carvings. Was Ginny really this influential? The box was empty of other ticket holders, but there was a plush sofa and a table of afters and tea. Hermione lingered by the edge of the box, too nervous to sit on the sofa. She expected others to join her in the box, such as Harry and Dean, but the match began and still no one showed up.

She calmed down some and served herself some tea and cake. Perching on the sofa, she concentrated on the enormous screen in front of her. She wanted to make sure she caught every time the camera landed on Ginny.

The other team scored the first two goals, and she knew enough to be alarmed for the Harpies. At one point Ginny captured the rubber ball (what was its name again? It was something that sounded like waffle) and she raced down field toward the opponent’s goals. Hermione held her breath. As she approached the goals, Ginny began to zigzag to fend off the defense and to confuse the keeper. She darted left and shot for the upper right goal; the keeper blocked the ball with the tip of his fingers. The stadium hummed with groans and cheers.

The camera followed Ginny as she raced back into position, and she looked unfazed, like it’d been her plan all along to not score. She was breathtaking up there on her broom. Her thick red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and her strong body appeared utterly in control of her broom, like she could snap it in half at any moment.

A few minutes later Ginny managed to score: the other Chaser faked a shot on goal and passed the ball to Ginny instead. She threw the ball with so much might that it rocketed through the keeper’s flailing arms. The crowd roared. Hermione jumped up and down, yelling. The camera zoomed in on Ginny’s face and she looked so happy, so beautiful. There was a nice flush to her cheeks, her hairline lined with sweat, a cocky grin twisting her mouth. She was the embodiment of confidence. Hermione had to look away, and her eyes stung as if she’d been staring directly into white sunlight.

The Harpies’ Seeker—a gangly girl barely out of Hogwarts—caught the snitch a few minutes later. Hermione was a bit disappointed to see the match end. Had she really enjoyed a game of Quidditch? Maybe, but as she watched Ginny do a lap around the field and wave to the cheering crowd, she suspected that her enjoyment had more to do with Ginny than the actual game.

She didn’t leave the box right away. She made herself another cup of tea and spied on all the people below streaming to the exits. Everyone seemed happy enough, though there were a few fans of the losing team who looked glum. Finally, when she thought most of the crowd had gone, she left the box in search of the locker rooms. Ginny had wanted to get drinks, and Hermione supposed that was the best place to meet her. 

After a few wrong turns, Hermione found herself in the bowels of the stadium. Footsteps and excited voices emanated from above. Her heart was thumping hard. She didn’t understand why she was so nervous to go into the locker room. She took a deep breath and pushed open the large double doors.

Inside was a lot nicer than she expected. Each player had her own cupboard with her kit hanging neatly above it. Women drifted about in various degrees of undress. Hermione kept her eyes down until she spotted Ginny. Her mouth went dry. It’d been a long time since she’d seen Ginny without a shirt on.

Ginny stood at her cupboard in a sports bra and jeans that hung low on her wide hips. She’d just come from a shower and her vibrant hair dripped down her back. Freckles dotted her shoulders and her arms. Something twisted in Hermione; she’d always had a soft spot for freckles.

“Ginny?” Hermione said softly.

Ginny looked up, and her expression was ecstatic. “You made it!”

Hermione blushed. “Yes.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am!” Ginny enveloped her in a hug. Hermione stilled; she didn’t know where to put her hands.

“It was a great match.” Hermione’s voice quivered.

A group of VIP fans poured into the locker room. 

Ginny threw on a shirt and grinned apologetically. “Do you mind? This will only take a moment.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, of course not.”

There was a teenage girl in the group who was staring at Ginny like she was the moon and stars all wrapped up into one. She wore large glasses and her face was marked with ghastly pimples. Hermione felt sorry for her. 

The girl inched away when Ginny approached. “Hullo, everyone! Thank you so much for supporting our team!” Ginny snapped her fingers and a marker quill appeared in her hand. “Anyone fancy an autograph?” The girl looked like she would faint.

A middle-aged man pounced on Ginny first. “Weasley! You’re the family favorite! We just can’t get over how easy you make it look scoring all those goals.”

Ginny winked. “Thanks a lot!” She signed the man’s kit and turned to the mum to sign a photograph of the team. The girl seemed to gain a touch of courage; she stepped in front of Ginny and shoved a little piece of parchment into her hand.

“Did you get me a present?” Ginny asked, all charm. The girl was trembling. Ginny read the parchment and grinned at the girl. “That’s very sweet of you. Would you like a photograph with me?”

The girl nodded shyly, but she seemed to be waiting for Ginny to say something else. Ginny threw an arm over her shoulder and pulled her in close for the photograph. The girl blushed so hard her face went purple.

Ginny patted the girl on the back and the group left. The girl lingered by the doors until her parents called for her. 

“What did the parchment say?” Hermione asked.

Ginny laughed and handed it to Hermione. _Will you marry me?_ the parchment read. The writing was messy and childish.

“Wow,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Do you think she meant it?”

Ginny shrugged. “She’s a child. Who cares? I just hope she continues buying Harpies tickets and merchandise.”

When Ginny wasn’t looking, Hermione quickly pocketed the parchment.

“Ready?” Ginny asked.

Hermione nodded.

“We have to leave the stadium before we can Apparate. I hope you don’t mind the walk.”

“Not at all,” Hermione said, and she fingered the parchment in the pocket of her trousers.

They made their way out of the stadium. Once a safe distance away, Ginny stopped and pulled Hermione closer. Hermione’s stomach fluttered.

“We’ll Side-Along, yeah?” There was something different about how Ginny gazed down at her. Her eyes were darker than usual.

“Sure,” Hermione whispered.

They spun and disappeared.

*

They arrived at a quaint little pub and were greeted by rosebushes trembling in the slight breeze. The night was a little cold; Hermione shivered and Ginny’s warm hand briefly touched the back of her neck.

“Don’t worry. They usually have a fire going,” Ginny said, and led them inside. The pub smelled like cider and caramel.

They slid into a booth in the back. “Does the pub sell sweets?” Hermione asked.

“They’re known for their crème caramel, believe it or not,” Ginny said.

“Now I wish I hadn’t eaten so much cake,” she said, then added shyly, “I didn’t expect to watch the game from such a posh box.”

Ginny shrugged, but didn’t meet Hermione’s eyes. “I wanted you to be comfortable.”

“Do they just give those tickets to you?”

“Oh, not really. I mean, I didn’t pay for that box, but I definitely did loads of begging.” Ginny’s cheeks were a little red. She jumped up from the booth. “What do you want?”

“No—let me,” Hermione said. “I need to repay you for the ticket!”

“Absolutely not.” Ginny crossed her arms. “You like wine, yeah?”

Hermione nodded. “A red is a good bet. Just nothing too sweet.”

“Got it,” Ginny said, nodding seriously.

Hermione fiddled with the end of jumper while she watched Ginny order. Her stomach was turning. This didn’t feel like a normal night out with a friend. This felt like something more serious. Ginny leaned over the bar to pay and Hermione stared at her arse. She hastily looked away. 

Ginny came back with a cider and an enormous glass of wine.

“You’re quite naughty,” Hermione said without thinking.

Ginny winked. “You have no idea.”

Hermione blushed. She busied herself with sipping her wine, unable to look at Ginny. Yes, things were different. She’d known Ginny since they were kids, but there was a tension now. Ginny made her embarrassed, self-conscious. 

_It’s not that much of a surprise_ , a voice said in her head. Hermione refused to listen.

“Your goal was amazing,” Hermione said.

“Yeah?” Ginny said, and her eyes were bright. “What did you like about it?”

Hermione took a large gulp of her wine and sat back. “Everything. You throw with so much strength. I’m surprised that you didn’t break that poor bloke’s hands.”

Ginny laughed. “That means a lot coming from you.”

She frowned. “Why? I know some stuff about Quidditch.”

Shrugging, Ginny said, “I’ve always looked up to you. Your praise means a lot.”

“Oh.” Hermione stared down at her lap gloomily. 

“I want to impress you,” Ginny said softly. Hermione watched her. Ginny concentrated on the table, her fingers tracing the moisture left by her cider. 

“I’m glad,” Hermione said, and her voice cracked. Ginny looked up at her. Hermione couldn’t read Ginny’s expression, but they stared at each other for a long while.

“Do you want to go back to my flat?” Ginny asked, and her cheeks reddened again.

Hermione’s stomach clenched. “Yes.”

They left the pub and Hermione was excited when they walked to the alley. This meant that they would Side-Along again.

Ginny turned to her. It was too dark to see her expression. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, taking her hand. Ginny pulled her close again. They Apparated into her flat.

“You want another glass of wine?” Ginny said, turning away from her.

“Yes, please,” she said. 

They went into the kitchen. Ginny flicked her wand and a wine bottle and two glasses came soaring out of the cupboard. The bottle uncorked itself and neatly poured a serving into each glass.

Laughing, Hermione grabbed her glass from the air. She took two big gulps, hoping that the alcohol would calm her nerves.

Ginny sipped her wine. She seemed a bit nervous too. “Would you like to listen to some music?”

“Sure. Anything you want,” Hermione said.

“I have to confess that I inherited my mum’s love for Celestina Warbeck,” Ginny said.

Hermione laughed. “She’s good.”

Ginny flicked her wand again and a crooning love song trickled in from the living room. They leaned against the counter. Hermione finished her wine and the bottle immediately poured her another serving. She knew she should slow down, but she didn’t want to.

“It’s good to have you here,” Ginny said.

Hermione giggled. “Yeah?” Yep, the wine was definitely affecting her now. She felt a little dizzy.

“I’ve missed you since . . . you know.” Ginny placed her hand near Hermione’s and their fingers were almost touching.

“I know I’ve been a stranger,” Hermione said guiltily. “Sometimes I don’t even want to see Harry.”

Ginny nodded. “I understand. We’ve all been struggling.”

“Right.” Hermione took another gulp. She didn’t want to think about the last two years.

“How’s your work at the Ministry? Are you still planning those fundraisers and all that?”

Hermione brightened. “Yes! I love it. The whole planning process can be a little tiresome, but these frivolous events really do help people. I like that I play a part in that.”

“That sounds great.” Ginny slid her hand closer so their fingers now touched. “I’m happy that you like your job.”

“Yeah?” Hermione stared at their hands. Ginny’s was freckled and strong. Her heart pounded in her ears. God, she was pissed. “You have nice hands.”

“Oh?” Ginny said, and laughed. “I look like I’ve spots.” 

“You have such nice shoulders,” Hermione said, sighing. She knew she’d be embarrassed about saying this come morning, but right now she didn’t care.

“You think so?” Ginny said lightly. She inspected them. “I guess I do. I’m more concerned about protecting them from blows and if they are strong enough to get a Quaffle through Hannigan’s steel hands.”

“Yeah,” Hermione said, not really listening. She desperately wanted to run her hands over Ginny’s shoulders and arms. “C-can I touch you?”

Ginny stilled. It took her a moment to respond. “Of course.”

Hermione set her wine glass down and turned her full attention to Ginny’s shoulders. Her eyes were wide; her expression bordered on amazement. She lightly brushed her fingers along Ginny’s clavicle. Ginny chewed on her lower lip and watched her hand.

“I love freckles,” Hermione whispered.

Ginny shivered. “Yeah?” Her voice was rough.

“Your hair is so beautiful. Can I touch that, too?”

Ginny gave a quiet laugh. “You can do whatever you want.” She pulled her hair out of a ponytail and let it drape down her shoulders.

Hermione buried her face in Ginny’s hair, breathing in deeply. “You use cucumber-scented shampoo.”

“Very good.” Ginny’s tone was different. She sounded challenging, almost mean.

Hermione thought she should stop, but she didn’t want to waste this moment. She knew Ginny wasn’t the type to keep quiet when people did things she didn’t like. This made her more confident.

“I’m going to smell your neck now,” Hermione said. Ginny didn’t answer, but she moved her hair out of the way. Hermione was trembling. She rested her nose behind Ginny’s ear. God, she smelled so good.

“Hermione,” Ginny whispered.

Hermione opened her mouth against Ginny’s skin. She felt Ginny’s rapid heartbeat on her tongue.

“God,” Ginny said.

Hermione pushed down her bra strap and sleeve to kiss from her neck to where her shoulder met her arm. Ginny shivered. Hermione refused to think about what she was doing; all she knew was that she’d wanted to do this for a long time. She just hadn’t allowed herself to acknowledge it.

“I think I can feel your freckles on my lips,” Hermione said. Ginny moaned softly. She placed her hand on Ginny’s waist, trying to steady herself, and realized with a shock that she was very wet. She felt it dampening her knickers.

Oh, God. What was she doing? She was necking Ron’s sister. She was necking a woman who was practically her sister-in-law. She thought about how horrified Ron would be if he saw this. She pulled away from Ginny and began to weep.

“None of that,” Ginny said gently. She tried to bring Hermione into a hug but Hermione held her off. “What’s the matter?”

“I shouldn’t have done that!” Hermione said, and her drunkenness made her voice too high. “I’m a terrible person!”

“No you aren’t! You’re probably the best person I know!” Ginny said.

“I almost kissed Ron’s sister!” she said.

Ginny flinched. She stepped back and crossed her arms. There was a long, horrible silence. Hermione wanted to run away.

“We should get you to bed,” Ginny said, and her voice was a little cold.

“I don’t think I can Floo,” Hermione said, sniffling. God, she hated herself.

“That’s all right. I’ll make you up a bed on the sofa.” Ginny went into the living room. She was using her wand to tuck sheets and a blanket into the sides of the sofa when Hermione finally found the will to join her. Ginny elongated and fluffed up a throw pillow.

“Thanks,” Hermione said wetly.

“Of course.” Ginny smiled vaguely in her direction.

Hermione crawled into her makeshift bed. Ginny turned off the music and lights and went into her bedroom, shutting the door. She locked the door.

Hermione’s head was spinning. She cried harder. She’d made a terrible mistake. She’d done something stupid and hurt Ginny in the process. She pressed her palms hard into her teary eyes; she couldn’t stop thinking about the smell of Ginny’s hair.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning Ginny lay in bed, eyes half-open, head pounding slightly, and wondered why she had a panicked ache in her stomach. Then she remembered: Hermione.

Ginny groaned and hid her head beneath her pillows. She’d fucked up. There was no denying it. She hadn’t meant to get Hermione so pissed. (Okay, that wasn’t entirely true, but fantasies and reality were two very different things.)

She didn’t understand what’d happened. One minute Hermione was fine, the next she was trying to snog Ginny and crying about Ron. Ginny shivered. God, Hermione had really kissed her neck. Her mouth had really been all over Ginny’s shoulder. Hermione had looked so crushed, so delicate, when she’d realized what she was doing. 

“Fuck,” Ginny said. She blamed herself. She was the one who kept feeding Hermione all that wine. She’d just wanted Hermione to loosen up, to stop thinking about everything so much. She’d also wanted Hermione to flirt with her more. Ginny wasn’t blind. She’d seen how Hermione had looked at her in the locker room and at the pub. Damnit. Right now Hermione was probably out there on her sofa, utterly mortified about last night, and Ginny shared a good chunk of the blame.

The truth was that Ginny wanted Hermione. She’d wanted her for a long time. And now it was all mucked up. She would probably not see Hermione for another year. Hermione would lock herself away again, like she did that first year after Ron’s—

Ginny got out of bed. Nope. She wasn’t going to think about Ron. She was going to have a productive day, and she couldn’t dwell on terrible memories. She went into her en-suite for the toilet and a shower. She took off her shirt in front of the mirror. Hermione had marveled at her shoulders. She examined them in the window’s hazy light. Her shoulders were all right. They were strong. Capable. She liked that about her body. She flexed and grinned. She liked that her arms had definition. It made her look tough, like she was somebody you didn’t fuck with. 

Sighing, Ginny really didn’t want to face her. She’d have to think about what to say to Hermione during her shower. Maybe she could buy Hermione breakfast and they’d just move on from the bloody mess.

*

After her shower, Ginny spent some time combing her hair and plucking her eyebrows. She searched her face for any pimples and was delighted that for once her skin was clear. She didn’t wear makeup and she rarely styled her hair, but that didn’t mean she didn’t think about her appearance. _Somebody_ had to consider all her adoring fans. She snickered and went to search for something to wear.

Picking out an outfit was not an easy task. She wanted to impress Hermione while still looking casual. She wanted to remind Hermione of when they’d hung out together at the Burrow . . . while also highlighting the parts of herself that Hermione found attractive. At first she put on a sleeveless shirt, but the day was going to be cold, and it’d be too suspicious. She decided on a nice buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Yes, that would do. 

Taking a deep breath, she went into the living room and found the sofa empty. Her stomach clenched. She checked the hallway toilet and found no one there. She went into the kitchen. Empty too. She went back to the sofa and spotted a note on the neatly folded sheet and blanket.

_Thank you for letting me stay overnight. I had to leave early due to an emergency at work. I am so sorry about my conduct last night. It will never happen again. Sincerely, Hermione_

Ginny flinched. The note contained all her worst fears. Hermione sounded like she was writing to a damn colleague! All the forced formality. Ugh. She’d even ended the note with a “sincerely.” Like for a bloody job application or something. 

Sighing, she fell back onto the sofa. Why did Hermione have to be like this? There was no need for her to lie about an emergency; she could’ve just left without an explanation, and Ginny would’ve understood. They’d been friends for so long. There was no need for this awkwardness.

Ginny held the pillow she’d transfigured up to her nose. She breathed in deeply and moaned a little. God, Hermione didn’t have a fucking clue how much Ginny wanted her.

Why had Hermione kissed her neck? Obviously she did it because she was pissed . . . but was it possible that Hermione wanted something more? Ginny understood the appreciative glances and the drunken flirtation, but Hermione had looked so amazed, so entranced, when she was touching Ginny. But then it’d all gone to hell when she started crying and—ugh. Ginny couldn’t think about this right now. She had things to do today. She had to keep herself occupied, or else memory of Hermione’s very soft mouth would make her lose her mind.

She’d go for a run. Yes, that would be good. She’d go for a run at the training facility before her meeting about publicity or community service or something. But first she had to cleanse her body of the alcohol from last night. She had a few (okay more than a few) rituals about maintaining her athletic performance, and consuming her weight in water after drinking alcohol was one of them. 

In the kitchen she guzzled glass after glass of water. She vanished the bottle of wine on the counter without looking at it. She went to the bedroom and tore off her stupid shirt to change into her workout gear. She’d gone through all that trouble about her appearance only for Hermione to not even be here. She shook her head and Apparated. 

The training facility was awe-inspiring. The state of the art equipment, exercise courses, and all the high-end charm work made veterans of women’s Quidditch envious, hopeful, and a little sad that they hadn’t had these opportunities. Ginny knew this and she was so grateful that women were gaining more respect in Quidditch. 

The size of the facility was always changing. During tournament prep there were usually ten levels of practice fields, workout courses, offices, medical and therapeutic centers. The season had just began, so the facility only had about five levels. Gin hoped that most of her teammates were not around. She didn’t feel much like talking.

She went to the second level to the kitchen. Another ritual dictated that she have an espresso before every workout or match. Most people who weren’t athletes didn’t understand, but she swore that her performance suffered without this little surge of caffeine. As she waited for her espresso to brew, all the water hit her, and she shuffled to the toilet to relieve her bladder.

There were a few places in the facility where players could run. Ginny chose a charmed obstacle course that allowed her to pick the weather, the terrain, and whether she wanted things like overturned foliage and crumbling boulders in her way. Her favorite environment was a mossy forest with decaying trees and pools of mud. The air was cold but wet, and the many hindrances kept her on her toes. 

Outside the door to the course, Ginny tapped her wand and chose this woodsy environment. She entered and smelled wet mulch and a river bank. She took a deep breath and stretched her arms over her head. She stretched her legs, then cracked her back. She took off down the winding path. The charm work amazed her every time. Above her, birds fluttered about the trees and squirrels scattered between their branches. Most of the path was immersed in cool shadows; every now and then a few drops of liquid fell onto her head, down her neck, and she hoped that it was only rain water.

After a minute or two, the novelty of the forest wore off, and Ginny fell into the steady rhythm of her run. 

Hermione had looked so cute last night. Ginny hadn’t expected her to go to the game. She’d cancelled so many times and Ginny had assumed sending the ticket was nothing more than wishful thinking. She was glad that she didn’t have to kiss the arses of ticket promoters anymore. She loved that she treated Hermione to that posh box, but there was only so much begging Ginny could do before it became pathetic.

She hit the gradual incline and forced herself to slow down. She had to pace herself. 

Hermione looked pretty much like she had in Hogwarts. Her hair was still out of control; her clothes were still a little frumpy. Ginny had noticed that time had weakened Madam Pomfrey’s work on Hermione’s front teeth, and her mouth now had the slight look of a rabbit. Ginny thought it was beyond cute. Hermione’s gaze had been so dark in the pub; she’d always been drawn to Hermione’s intelligent eyes. She liked how they glittered when Hermione was about to outsmart, or lecture, or protect somebody. She liked how they’d glittered when Hermione was touching her shoulder. 

She wondered what Hermione’s eyes would look like if Ginny kissed her. Would they go wide in shock? Would her eyelids droop with arousal? Would Hermione hold her breath or sigh quietly? Hermione’s mouth was so cute and bitable. Ginny could probably kiss it so—

She tripped on some outstretched vines, and fell. Her hand was all scrapped up. “Fuck,” she whispered. This was ridiculous. How many times had she ran this course? She couldn’t let her thoughts about Hermione distract her.

She took out her wand and healed her hand. Her irritation weakened the spell, and her palm was left very tender. She took off running again. Her movements were uncoordinated, annoyed, and she knew she needed to slow down and be more careful. Instead she picked up her pace, sprinting against her frustration.

There was nothing Ginny could do. She wanted Hermione, plain and simple. After what’d happened to Ron, Hermione had secluded herself, and Ginny had assumed the distance would weaken her desire. But her longing still flared every time she interacted with Hermione, and it seemed to only be getting stronger.

She’d always felt drawn to Hermione, but it was during the final battle that she realized her attraction. It’d been a terrible, terrible night. All that blood throughout the corridors. Fred’s dead, expressionless face. Bellatrix Lestrange’s cackling cruelty. But what Ginny remembered most was the way her heart seized up when she saw Hermione and Ron kiss.

It’d been a stupid thing to focus on. Harry’d been facing down the most evil wizard of all time. Everyone she’d ever loved or cared about had been battling Death Eaters. But Ginny saw Hermione and Ron embracing, and she wanted to throw things. She wanted to fling herself into a duel with some grunting dark wizard. She wanted to find Harry and kiss him in front of Hermione. To make her jealous. To hurt her. When it occurred to her that kissing Harry wouldn’t even make Hermione bat an eye, Ginny had wanted to charge out of the castle, never looking back.

Her cheeks grew warm, and it had nothing to do with her run. Her thoughts from that night embarrassed her. She should’ve been there full-heartily for Harry, but it was Hermione who she thought about. The three had been away for all that time, and it’d been Hermione, not Harry or her brother, who Ginny missed most.

She shook her head and just barely avoided tripping over a knotted tree limb. After years of want, Hermione had actually kissed her skin. She seemed to want Ginny, and Ginny almost didn’t know what to do about it. There was a good chance that it was just misplaced feelings on Hermione’s part; maybe Ginny had reminded her of Ron in some way. Maybe it’d been nothing but the alcohol the drove her to smell and caress Ginny. Ginny didn’t care. She would do practically anything to have Hermione’s mouth on her again. Her soft, wet, trembling mouth. God, she wanted to see Hermione’s tits. She’d once accidently glimpsed Hermione without a shirt on, and Ginny knew that her nipples were a dusty pink. She wanted to put her mouth on those nipples. She wanted to suck and caress and bite while her capable hand trailed down between—

“Argh!” Ginny went to the ground. For a moment or two, she had no idea what’d happened. Her ankle was red and already swelling. Behind her a loop of tree root stuck up from the mossy path; it looked like the body of some gnarled snake. Ginny groaned and punched the wet mulch. It was the first time that bloody root had gotten the best of her! How many times had she sailed over all these blasted roots, thinking: Ha! This course thinks _trees_ will stop me?

That’s what she deserved thinking about Hermione’s tits when she was running a magical obstacle course. Now her ankle was all fucked up and she’d have to hobble to the infirmary. She removed her wand from its holster and swished it around her head to end the course. She found herself back in the brightly lit facility. She cast a hovering spell on herself and used her arms to propel through the air. She ran into Viv in the lift.

“What happened to you?” Viv’s eyes were all big.

Ginny shrugged. “Obstacle course. Wasn’t paying attention. Tripped and hurt my ankle.”

“Terrible luck. Do you need any help? Need me to carry you?”

“No, thanks,” Ginny said, a bit uncomfortable. Viv was their starting Seeker. Barely nineteen. She was cute but painfully naïve. She had a massive crush on Ginny, and Ginny had almost fucked her a few months back. They’d been travelling through South America for some friendlies and Viv had kissed her after a night of drinking. Ginny had liked it enough, but she’d sensed that something was off. She’d been proved right when Viv made it a habit of pushing increasingly more desperate love letters under Ginny’s room door. After a week of this, Ginny had been forced to confront her when she woke up to a crumpled note that read: _Why are you avoiding me? You make me want to kill myself!_

Viv followed her to the infirmary. Luckily the team’s main healer was there.

The healer clicked her tongue. “You need to pay more attention, Weasley.”

“Yeah,” she said, and grimaced when the healer felt around her ankle.

Viv stroked her arm and Ginny ignored it.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine,” Viv said brightly.

Ginny gave her a hesitant smile.

“I can heal it, but you’ll have to remain still for about twenty minutes,” the healer said.

Sighing, Ginny said, “All right.”

The healer hit her with a round of spells, which left her ankle covered by a pulsating bubble. Ginny sighed again. The ache was replaced by a soothing tingle. 

“Wanna play a game?” Viv asked.

“Sure,” Ginny said. With her wand, Viv drew a large square in the air for a game of noughts and crosses.

As they played, Ginny observed Viv out of the corner of her eye. Viv was tall and lanky, and she reminded Ginny of a wobbly foal. Her hair was brown like Hermione’s, but it didn’t have any volume. It fell like a curtain around her rectangular face. Her eyes were green like Harry’s, but they were darker and didn’t sparkle like his. Ginny had to admit that he had gorgeous eyes.

Viv stuck out her tongue, and giggled. “Like what you see?” 

Ginny just smiled. Viv won the first two games, and she gave a whoop of delight. Ginny was glad that she was pleased. The bubble around her ankle disappeared and the healer came back into the room to check on her progress.

“Looks like you’re all ready to go,” the healer said. “Just take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“Definitely,” Ginny said, and walked gingerly to the lift. It was time for that publicity meeting.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna go,” Viv said at her side.

“Me either.” They stepped in the lift, and Viv held out her arm so that Ginny could lean on her. 

Ginny smiled blandly. “Thanks, but I got it.”

Viv blushed and looked at her feet.

Most of the team was waiting in the conference room. Coach Buttersmith held court at the front. Ginny and Viv sat down at the table, grinning at their fellow players. 

Coach Buttersmith looked like he’d been doubled teamed by Bludgers. Multiple times. His nose was all caved in and there was a good chuck of flesh missing from his right cheek. Ginny loved him to death and she would trust him with her life.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s get this over with as quickly as possible. As you all know, playing Quidditch is about—oh, I’d say—thirty percent of your job.”

Lupe snorted. “More like ten percent.”

“Yes.” Coach Buttersmith cleared his throat. “The rest of the time it’s your job to kiss arse and promote the Harpies. So that’s what we’re here today about. Any brilliant ideas on arse kissing? Lemme hear them.”

“We need to partner with a community organization,” Lupe said. “An org that helps abandoned Crups or something.”

“My mum works for VOTE,” Viv said. When everyone looked at her blankly, she explained, “It stands for Victims of Teapot Explosions. It’s quite an epidemic.”

Coach Buttersmith grimaced. “We need something more high profile.”

“VOTE is high profile!” Viv insisted.

“I have friends at the Ministry,” Ginny said. “Maybe we could collaborate with some kind of Ministry social service.”

Coach Buttersmith’s eyes lit up. “You’re mates with Harry Potter! Do you think—”

“No way.” Ginny shook her head.

“Are you sure?” Lupe said. “He’s so famous. I bet he wouldn’t mind helping us raise some money for charity.”

“He would mind. Trust me. Though I do know someone whose main job is to hold fundraisers for the Ministry. She might possibly be interested in a partnership.” _If she ever talks to me again_ , Ginny thought.

“Good,” Coach Buttersmith said. “Anyone else?”

Ginny stared down at her lap. Her stomach squirmed. There was a good chance that Hermione would refuse to work with her.

*

When Ginny arrived home, her Floo began to chime. She rushed to her fireplace. Hermione!

Harry’s head appeared instead. He grinned. “Hi.”

“Oh, hi.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

Frowning, Harry said, “Did I catch you at a wrong time? If you’re waiting for another call—”

“No, no, it’s fine.” Ginny gulped. She was desperate to tell him. He probably wouldn’t take it very well, but she needed him right now. “Want to come through?”

“Definitely,” Harry said. Ginny plopped down at her sofa and Harry emerged from the fireplace a few moments later. He joined her on the sofa.

“Want something to drink?” Ginny took out her wand. “I was gonna have some ginger ale.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Ginny Accio’ed two cans of ginger ale from the kitchen. They sipped their drinks in silence. Harry watched her worriedly. He knocked their knees together.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny said, still debating if she was going to tell him. He kept his knee very close to hers, and she knew it was deliberate. She knew there was a good chance that he’d freak out, but she’d never been very strategic about her feelings. There was no stopping her when her feelings had to be shared.

He put his arm around her. “Come on, you can tell me.” She shrugged off his arm. 

Sometimes things were awkward between her and Harry. He really did deserve all the glory and praise, and the hordes of adoring fans. His compassion, and wit, and strength would always impress her. This did not mean she wanted to sleep with him. At one time she’d confused the two. At one time she’d thought her adoration meant that she was in love with him. Yes, she still cared about him deeply; she yearned for the nights they’d hang out at the pub or go to the cinema or just lounge at home in front of his wireless. All of this did not mean she wanted his cock inside her. It’d taken her longer than some, but soon after Hogwarts, she’d realized that she didn’t want anyone’s cock inside her.

Harry didn’t understand this. He’d sworn up and down that he didn’t expect their relationship to ever be more than platonic again, but Ginny wasn’t an idiot. Sometimes she caught him staring at her. Sometimes his hands lingered in places they shouldn’t. _One day he will move on_ , she told herself.

All of this meant that she probably shouldn’t tell him about Hermione. It would hurt him . . . but wouldn’t it hurt him more if she didn’t tell him now? Hermione might talk to him first, and then he’d know that Ginny hadn’t been entirely honest with him.

Ginny took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about something, but I don’t think you’ll take it very well.”

His face dropped. “What’s the matter? Are you in danger?”

She snorted. “No! It’s nothing like that!” She gulped. “It’s about a girl.”

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“It’s about Hermione.”

His face lit up. “Oh!”

Ginny tried to read him. “I don’t think you understand.”

“What’s the matter with Hermione?” He smiled. “Do we need to kidnap her and take her on a pub crawl? I agree she needs to leave her flat more often.”

Ginny took a deep breath. Here it goes. “I’m in love with her.”

“WHAT?” He stood from the sofa. 

Ginny didn’t pay him much attention; she hadn’t meant to say that. She’d planned to say something like, “I care for her deeply” or “I want her so much!” But instead she’d blurted out the big L.

“You can’t be serious!” Harry said.

“Well, I am,” Ginny said, a bit grumpy. “And something happened between us last night.”

“You fucked her!” He was yelling. He paced in front of the fireplace. “I can’t believe this. _Hermione?_ I thought you wanted to experiment! Try new things!” He turned to her, and his eyes were so very hurt. Everything in his face said: _Why Hermione and not me?_

Ginny sighed. “We didn’t fuck, but I’ve been nursing these feelings for too damn long. I want her.”

“Hermione’s _straight_ ,” Harry said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well so was I,” Ginny said. “Things change.”

Harry put his back to her. There was a long silence.

“She’s still in love with Ron,” he said to the wall. “She’s emotionally fragile right now. It wouldn’t be very nice of you to take advantage of that.”

“It’s been two years!” Ginny said, outraged. “I don’t appreciate what you’re implying! I’m not preying on her vulnerability!”

Harry swirled around. “Two years is nothing! We’ve been broken up for over five!”

“I’ve wanted her for a lot longer than five years.”

He grimaced. “It’s just so _weird_. She’s like your sister.”

“And I wasn’t like your sister when you began fancying me? What about George and Angelina? She dated Fred at Hogwarts!”

“All of that is different.”

“Why? Because they’re heterosexual?” Ginny said coldly.

“No!” Harry sat down on the sofa. He rubbed hard at his temples. “Blimey.” He laughed roughly. “You know why I’m reacting like this. I—I can’t help it.”

“Harry,” Ginny said. She wanted to rub his back, comfort him in some way, but she didn’t want to send the wrong signal. “I don’t want to be with you.”

She wished she could make him understand. Right after the war, it’d been so strange to be the girlfriend of the most famous man in the wizarding world while questioning her heterosexuality. So many women had thrown themselves at him. They’d be out in public, minding their own business, when random women would demand his attention. They would ask him for his autograph, ask him for his Floo address, or ask to buy him a drink. They would do all this while glaring at Gin. Hating her. If only they’d known what she’d been thinking. She imagined slipping her hand beneath their skirts. Pulling their knickers down with her teeth and tongue-fucking them until their hostility became desperation. They’d coveted Harry, but Ginny would bet money that she could’ve fucked them better, if only given the chance.

“I know,” Harry said, and exhaled loudly. “So what happened?”

“We hung out last night and got a few drinks.”

He frowned. “She was at the game?”

Blushing, Ginny said, “I pulled some strings and got her a private box.”

Gaping, he said, “You’ve never done that for me and Dean!”

“You’re _Harry Potter_. You could easily get your own box!”

“Point taken,” he said.

She told him about getting drunk at her flat and the shoulder kissing. “It was a disaster! She was crying and I had to put her to bed. I woke up this morning and she was gone.”

“Poor Hermione.” He shook his head sadly. “She must be in really bad shape.”

Ginny bit her lip. “So you think she only did it because of the booze?”

He was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know. It’s not like she just kissed your cheek or something. She was all over you.”

“We didn’t snog or anything like that.”

Shrugging, he said, “When have you known Hermione to throw herself at people when she’s drunk? It’s not like her. She obviously has . . . you know . . . _feelings_. Whether or not she wants to act on them is a whole other story.”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, a bit depressed.

“I could talk to her,” Harry said.

“You should go see her. She needs you right now.” Ginny paused. “I just don’t want to spook her. I don’t want you to go over to her flat and demand answers from her.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I’m not that much of a troll! I can be sensitive!” 

“I’m just nervous.” Ginny sighed. “I don’t want to hurt her, but there’s no way I can let this go.”

“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “You should send her an owl. Invite her to coffee or something. Invite her . . . I dunno . . . shopping. I’ll talk to her and we’ll figure out what to do.” He looked sad.

Ginny patted his hand. “You’re so great. You’ll find somebody.”

He pulled his hand away. “I _do_ have a date soon. With a blonde.” 

“I didn’t know you liked blondes!”

“I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.” His voice had an edge, but he laughed and stood. “I’ll pop over at Hermione’s now. Play it real cool.”

“Thank you,” she said, earnest.

“Of course. That’s what best mates are for.” He winced.

When he had gone, Ginny lounged on her sofa for a long while, sipping her ginger ale. It was ridiculous that she had Viv and Harry desperate for her when the person _she_ wanted couldn’t even stay for breakfast. Love was stupid and exhausting, and most of the time it was like trying to hit a moving target. Either you were too early or too late, and only by miracle did you get a bullseye.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione loved to read two books at once. Currently she juggled Jean Rhys’ _Good Morning, Midnight_ and Daphne du Maurier’s _Jamaica Inn_. The Rhys was a reread and du Maurier’s opening description of an icy November day sent Hermione to the kitchen to make tea. As she waited for the leaves to seep, she played with her cat via a string hanging from the tip of her wand. Overall her day hadn’t been so bad, and her reading had distracted her from last night’s embarrassment. 

When she heard her Floo chime, she cringed and debated on not answering it. It could very well be Ginny, and Hermione didn’t think she had the strength to face her. Not yet. She was so ashamed. She was afraid that Ginny would ask her why she’d kissed her neck and Hermione didn’t know if she could answer her.

Best to just get on with it. She went to her fireplace to answer the Floo. “Hello?”

Harry appeared. “Hi. Can I come through?”

Relieved, she said, “Sure. Give me a minute to pick up the living room.”

He shook his head. “You don’t have to do that.” 

With her wand, Hermione directed balls of socks into her bedroom, empty crisp bags and cold teabags into the bin, and sent the pile of books on her sofa to the bookcase. Harry arrived a moment later.

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind! I was just having my tea. Want to join me?”

He grinned. “Sure.” There was something off about his expression.

In the kitchen they sat at her table and waited for Harry’s tea to seep. He fiddled with his teacup and stirred his spoon miserably.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. He looked up at her, and Hermione knew that he’d spoken to Ginny. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Truly I am. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated. “I’m assuming you’ve talked to Ginny.”

“Yeah, I have.” His mouth trembled. He took a deep breath. “But I still don’t understand why you’re apologizing.”

Hermione said the next bit carefully: “I’m apologizing because I know you’re still in love with her.”

“Christ.” He took off his glasses to rub at his face. “Is it that obvious?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“I suppose you think I’m pathetic.”

“No! I would never think that! I can understand why you’d be . . . in love with her.” She blushed.

Harry put his glasses back on and looked at her closely. “Ginny’s over the moon about you.”

She squeaked and covered her mouth, embarrassed. “How do you know?” Her voice was very soft.

“She told me.” He began to cry. Hermione hadn’t seen him cry since Ron’s funeral. She didn’t dare move; she bit her lip and watched him wipe angrily at his face. 

He got a hold of himself. “I’m sorry—I’m being ridiculous. It’s just been such a shock.”

“Yes.”

“I had no idea about you two.” He laughed, and it was a terrible sound.

She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to deny it, but she knew that would be a mistake. There wasn’t anything between her and Ginny. Not really. They’d never kissed or slept with one another. There’d been no confession of attraction. There had only been shared looks. An ache to touch. Persisting thoughts of _What would she taste like? What would she feel like? Could she ever want me, too?_

“I’m scared,” Hermione said, a little stunned. She hadn’t identified the feeling before this moment. She licked her lips; her tongue was bone dry. “Not much has happened between us but . . . I think there’s something there.”

Harry held her hand and remained silent. His eyes were strangely intense, and it scared her even more to look at him. Instead she stared at her tea.

“Ron’s death changed me,” she said, and his hand jerked. “I don’t want to make it sound like I feel this way because he died, but in the past couple of years I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I want.” She paused to steady herself. “After what happened last night with Ginny, I’m now capable of admitting that I want her. I’ve wanted her for such a long time, but I didn’t have the nerve to face it.”

“When?” He cleared his throat. “When did you start fancying her?”

Hermione knew his question didn’t come from a good place, but she was tired of pushing these thoughts to the back of her mind. She wanted to get them out. “Since Hogwarts. For a long time I’ve known that I’m attracted to both men and women, but it was just easier to not think about the women part. I was so focused on being with Ron, and I let our relationship shield me from that other part of myself.”

“Wow,” he whispered.

“Yeah.” She hugged herself. “I’m ashamed, though. I practically threw myself at her and she put me to bed. Like my mum or something. I think I came on too strongly and scared her away.”

Harry got to his feet and crossed the room to stare out the window. The grey twilight shadowed his face. “I honestly can’t believe this is happening. Everything’s been so upside down since Ron died.” He blinked and there were tears in his eyes again. “I blame myself. I should’ve been there to protect him. You were shattered after he died—and it was all my fault.”

“No!” She stood as well. “I’ve never blamed you! Never!”

“He only joined the Aurors because he didn’t want us to split up. If it wasn’t for me, he’d be working for George and you two would be married by now.”

Hermione trembled. “There was nothing you could’ve done. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You know that. And . . . I’m not sure if we’d be married now.”

He turned to her. “What do you mean? You two were mad about each other!”

“Were we? I don’t really know now. Maybe we were together just because it was convenient. Expected.”

Harry gaped at her. “I can’t take this.” He tugged at his hair, his shoulders hunched. “First Ginny, now you. I want to just _scream_.” 

“What do you mean!” Hermione was now the one on the verge of tears.

“How in the world does somebody change so much?” Harry asked. “She fucking wrote me a Valentine’s Day poem when she was eleven. In sixth year she told me I was the most beautiful person she’d ever seen. We love being around each other. Debating Quidditch and listening to stupid comedy programs on the wireless. For fuck’s sake, I’ve been _inside her_. Tell me—what did I do wrong?”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered. Tears stung her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, just stop. I don’t need you to pity me.” He pressed his forehead to the wall, defeated.

She gulped. “I could stay away from her if it hurts you so much.” Her stomach dropped.

“Yes, I think that’d be best.” His voice was muffled.

“Okay.” She was numb. She sat down heavily at the table. She didn’t look up when he joined her.

“I don’t know how to stop feeling this way,” he said. 

_Me either_ , she thought.

They sipped their tea in silence. Harry seemed embarrassed about crying. He had a hard time focusing on her. 

“I’ll write Ginny a letter,” Hermione said quietly. “I’ll tell her that what happened was a mistake. I’ll do this but don’t expect to see me at the Burrow any time soon. I—I don’t think I could face her.” She was determined to ignore her panic. She hadn’t seen much of Ginny in the last two years. Nothing would be changing all that much. 

“Thank you.” He took a deep breath. “I should go. It’s been a long day.”

“All right.” She walked him to her Floo. He hugged her, but she barely touched him. 

“Goodbye,” he said without looking at her.

She went to her study after he left. She took out a quill and parchment to write up the letter to Ginny. She had no idea how to begin. 

She was crying and the tears slimed her neck. She didn’t want to do this. But—she also didn’t want to lose Harry’s friendship. Getting with Ginny would gut him, and Hermione loved him too much to put him through that. She gulped. There were other women out there. Other gingers with fit shoulders and delicious wide hips. She’d date somebody with no connection to Harry or the Weasleys or the war. Somebody who didn’t remind her of Ron. Yes, that’d be good. 

Her hand trembled as she began to write: _Dear Ginny, Again I would like to apologise_ —

BOOM!

Hermione screamed and fell out of her chair. Something large and powerful had hit her walls. Alarms shrieked. What in the world? Wait. She knew what that sound meant. It was her wards telling her someone had tried to break in.

Somebody pounded on her front door. She took out her wand and went to her door with caution. She looked through the peephole but saw nobody. She cracked open her door.

Harry was sprawled on the ground. Blood trickled from his forehead. He grinned a little. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Hermione understood. “You tried to Apparate into my flat, didn’t you?”

“I should’ve just used the Floo, but I’m a bit of a mess right now.” He crawled to his feet. He wavered a bit and she helped him to the sofa.

“What’s wrong?” she asked once he’d relaxed.

He shook his head and grimaced. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Be still.” She carefully healed his forehead. His hair was sweaty. “Do you need a healer?”

“No. I’ll be fine.” He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. “What I said earlier was wrong.”

“Which part?”

He exhaled loudly. “You should talk to Ginny. Go shopping with her or something. Don’t avoid her because of me.”

Hermione didn’t dare think. “Like as friends?”

“No.” He turned his head to stare at her. “She’s crazy about you. Told me so herself. It’d be wrong for me to get in the middle of you two. I want you both to be happy, and if that means being together then I’ll deal with it.”

She cried. She cupped her face and laughed. “Really?” He nodded. She laughed some more and kissed his cheek. 

“Thank you, thank you!” she said.

He looked ashamed. “I’ve been a prat. I’m sorry.”

“I forgive you.” She stood, suddenly filled with adrenaline. “I should write to her.”

“Yeah.”

She laughed nervously. It sounded more like a hiccup. “I haven’t the foggiest about what I should say.”

Harry groaned. “Don’t think too hard. Just ask her to coffee or something. It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“You’re right.” She moved toward her study, then stopped. God, she was terrified. She didn’t even want to look at a quill.

“Bring over some parchment. I’ll tell you what to write.”

“Okay.” She brought out parchment and a quill from her study. She crouched down to write on her coffee tale. 

“Write: ‘Dear Ginny, Let’s have coffee tomorrow. I really want to see you.’ Then you should add lots of X’s and O’s.”

Hermione snorted. “You really think my owl can be that simple? You don’t think I need to explain myself more?”

“What’s there to explain?” He shrugged. “Everything should be said in person. You should see her right away so that neither of you will lose your courage.”

“Ginny would never lose her courage.” Hermione started on the letter; her hand moved across the parchment almost mindlessly.

“True.” Harry groaned and laid back on the sofa. “Christ. I need a drink.”

*

A reply came from Ginny the next morning. _I have open practice tonight. Why don’t you come by for that and we can get coffee afterward?_ She’d included the time and coordinates of the Harpies facility. Hermione’s heart pounded. She assumed an open practice meant that the public could watch; she was excited to see Ginny on a broom again and perhaps spy on her obsessive fans.

It was Sunday, so technically Hermione didn’t have work, but she didn’t think she could stay in her flat all day. She had to distract herself, and there was always something to do at the Ministry. She couldn’t decide what she was going to wear (a dress and heels would definitely be too much for coffee, right?), so she packed herself a bag with a few outfits, makeup, and hair product from the _Winsome Witch_ cosmetic line.

The Ministry was a ghost town. Hermione tried not to be spooked as she made her way through the deserted lobby. It was better inside the lift; she discovered a departmental note caught in the cage, its little wings fluttering tiredly. She released it, and the paper soared away.

She sighed in relief when she arrived at her office. She threw open the curtain and basked in the window’s weak sunlight. She turned to her desk and tried hard not to be intimidated. There was just so much to do before the VAL benefit. The organization was having a hard time coming up with the remaining money, and she’d found out that it was both uncomfortable and dangerous to tell a group of vampires _no_.

 _Best to just crack on_ , she thought, and summoned the benefit’s budget from her filing cabinet. She’d crunched the numbers again and see what else could be cut to ease the event’s cost. (They didn’t really need the blood fountain, but the vampires had been quite insistent . . .)

The hours flew by, and late afternoon arrived before Hermione knew it. She stood and stretched out her back. The spine-support charm was going out on her chair; she’d have to ask Mrs Danvers to speak to someone about getting her a new one. 

She was determined not to dwell on her doubts as she transfigured the side of her cabinet into a tall mirror and pulled out her outfits. Would the practice be held outside or inside? Should she go for trousers or a dress? She put on her favorite cocktail dress; it was burgundy with lace at the chest and a pleated skirt. She pulled on silky socks and her brown boots, and stepped back to get a look at herself. Okay, so she’d be a bit overdressed. She was sure most people at the practice would be in robes and jeans, but she wanted to impress Ginny. She wanted Ginny to stop in her tracks when she saw Hermione. Like in Hollywood films. 

Her hair and makeup were another story. She still wasn’t very good at cosmetic charms, and sometimes her eye-liner spell went crazy and made it look like she had on Halloween face paint. She decided to tackle makeup last and turned her attention to her hair. She combed it out with her wand and watched in dismay as it puffed up. She massaged a dollop of _Winsome Witch_ product into her hair, and tried to remember exactly how she’d styled it the last time. She didn’t want her hair to look too different; she just wanted to eliminate the frizz and control the curl. This took her longer than expected. Her hair refused to comply, and it was only after she threatened her strands with a good cut that they began to obey.

By the time she’d subdued her hair, her face was all sweaty and the practice was about to start. She spelled her face clean and just added some lip gloss and mascara. Whatever. She’d probably sweat off any foundation anyway. 

She left the Ministry and Apparated to the Harpies facility. “Wow,” she whispered. The place was enormous. It looked more like a spaceship than a building, and its edges were fuzzy like poorly erased pencil. Obviously the levels were under some type of spatial charms.

She wandered into the lobby.

“You here for the open practice?”

She turned abruptly and faced a volunteer with the Harpies logo on her robes. “Yes.”

“Top level. Take the lift that’s just down the hall.”

“Thanks,” she said, and smiled gratefully. She found the lift and went to the top floor, which turned out to be an opened circle that looked down at the level below. Seats lined the circle, which gave the fans a perfect view of the flying players. Hermione sat next to a large crowd of women, and she squinted along the field and at a large video screen for Ginny’s bright red hair. It didn’t take long to find her; Ginny was practicing shots with the other Chasers at the far end goals.

Hermione gulped and tried to remain calm. She eavesdropped on the nearest conversations to distract herself.

“God, Hannigan’s so hot.”

“No, Benedict’s hotter. Hannigan looks like a troll.”

“A hot troll.” There was laughter.

Hermione glanced at the teenage girls next to her. She expected to see the same girl from the locker room, but they were different. She had no idea that women’s Quidditch attracted so many underage fangirls.

Ginny raced toward the goals and faked left as she shot for the right goal. The ball rocketed through the hoop. Hermione cheered. 

“Oh, you’re a fan of Weasley?” It was one of the teenagers next to her.

Hermione smiled. “Yeah.”

The girl snorted. “You have stiff competition. Mandy’s officially Mrs Weasley, but Karla’s pretty much in love with her too.”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t get it.”

The girl yelled down the row: “HEY MANDY!” Hermione couldn’t see who she was yelling at. “Come over here! There’s a lady trying to steal your wife!”

Hermione blushed; she thought another teenager would approach her, but she was wrong: A woman older than her weaved around feet to get to them. She looked tough; she wore a bulky jean jacket and hefty biker boots. Hermione gulped.

“What are you yelling about?” Mandy asked.

The teenager pointed to Hermione. “She’s a fan of Weasley.”

Mandy looked Hermione up and down, and grinned. “I’ve got something to show you.” She produced something small from her pocket and spelled it back to its normal size. It was a poster with pictures of Ginny. _Weasley # 1_ blinked at the top. At first glance it looked innocent enough, but then Hermione leaned forward and realized that Mandy had manipulated the photos in strange ways. In one photo Ginny wore a glittering crown; in another she donned a brushy mustache and aviator shades; in another she played the Maracas with a beret sitting low on her forehead.

In the middle of the poster was the strangest photograph of all: Ginny’s head had been pasted on a kitten’s body, and every minute or so she meowed seductively.

“Why is her face on a cat?” Hermione tried really hard to keep a straight face.

Mandy smirked. “Because she’s the cat’s meow.”

“And because she’s a sex kitten,” said a new girl, which Hermione assumed was Karla. “Do you wanna see my album?”

“Sure.” Hermione was handed an album filled with photographs of Ginny. This made her even more uncomfortable because the photographs looked like they came from paparazzi or close friends. “Do you stalk her?”

Karla laughed. “No, but I know a few girls who do.” Hermione was alarmed; she tried to return the album but Karla refused to take it. “Flip to the back!”

In the back were about twenty pages of Ginny and the Harpies’ Seeker. Some of the photographs looked like they were from zoomed-in group shots, but others looked more personal like Ginny or the Seeker had taken them. A lot were manipulated or “photoshopped” as Muggles called it. On the last page Ginny and the Seeker were in wedding dresses at an altar. 

Hermione gaped. “What is this?”

“They’re dating.” When Hermione looked at her blankly, Karla explained: “Ginny and Viv. It’s only been official for a couple of months, but Viv’s been in love with Gin ever since she joined the team last year.” 

She was stunned. “How do you know?”

“My cousin’s best friend’s sister knows Viv and Viv told her that they were inseparable during last summer’s friendlies. They also sit together for most of the team dinners, and in one photograph Viv is touching Gin’s hand. I’m convinced they’re together, but the homophobic league forces them to hide it.”

Hermione was struggling to not take any of this seriously. There was no way Ginny could be dating Viv, right? She would tell Hermione . . . wouldn’t she?

Mandy handed Hermione a business card. “I run the adults-only fan club. You should come by sometime. We could get drinks afterward.”

The teenagers booed. “Total discrimination!”

Rolling her eyes, Mandy said, “You lot can join in a couple of years. Make your own bloody club in the meantime!” 

Karla narrowed her eyes at Mandy. “We have for your information!”

Mandy turned her attention back to Hermione. “What do you say? Will you come to a meeting?”

“Oh, um.” Hermione forced a laugh. “I’m not that big of a fan. I’m just here to support a friend.”

Mandy studied her face. “You look familiar. I think I know you from somewhere.”

Flushing, Hermione said, “I get that a lot.” She didn’t know if Mandy recognized her because of her role in the war or because of something more sinister. Was it possible that she had a file on all of Ginny’s friends?

Hermione stood. She didn’t want to be around these people anymore; she needed to be alone to quietly think about everything she’d just heard. She smiled at Mandy and quickly left the row.

“You scared her away!” Mandy yelled at someone (probably Karla).

There were complimentary watercress sandwiches and tea laid out for the fans. Hermione made herself a cup and took a sandwich to nibble on. She found an alcove with a window that looked out on the dark grounds. With her tea and sandwich hovering at her side, she stared out the window and tried to calm her thoughts. The trees shivered in the light wind; moonlight pooled along the facility’s little garden and a vacant service road.

She’d just have to ask Ginny about her relationship with Viv. (Was her full name Vivian or Viviana or something else entirely?) Hermione knew she’d heard the name before, but she couldn’t remember it now. She would casually ask Ginny about Viv, even though it’d make her look completely ridiculous. She’d have to admit that she took a loony fan conspiracy seriously. She couldn’t be too judgmental about the fans, though; she kept that teenager’s note to Ginny in her bedside table and had looked at it far too many times.

Nervous, she stuffed her sandwich into her mouth. God, she was going to make a fool of herself. Ginny would laugh at her. Ginny might not even be interested in her. Yes, Harry had insisted that she was, but it wasn’t like she’d proclaimed her love for Hermione in her replying owl. What if she proclaimed her love at coffee? What would Hermione do? What if she asked Hermione _why_ she wanted Ginny? Could Hermione answer her? Her stomach lurched. What if Ginny accused Hermione of using her as a replacement for Ron? What if—

 _Stop it!_ Hermione pressed her hands to her head. Enough. She had to get a hold of herself. She was trembling and her breath came fast; she knew she was very close to having a panic attack. She _would not_ allow her overactive mind ruin tonight. She had to think reasonably about this.

 _Breathe. Everything’s fine._ Ginny would not accuse her of such a terrible thing. Ginny was her friend, not her prosecutor. If Ginny asked Hermione why she had feelings, Hermione would just be honest. She liked Ginny because she was bloody sexy and charming and caring and so incredibly strong.

Good. This was all good. She could do this. It was just coffee. Very casual. Very doable.

Finishing up her tea, she went back to the seating area and thankfully found it empty. She gazed down and discovered that all the fans had moved to the level below for a meet and greet. Hermione remained on the top level. She sat with her eyes closed, enjoying the still air and the murmurs coming from below.

When she thought it was time for the meet and greet to be winding down, she opened her eyes and made to go downstairs. She stopped. Ginny stood in the doorway, her face unreadable.

“I was wondering where you were.” Ginny grinned.

Hermione approached her. “I was just relaxing.”

“I could tell.” Ginny’s eyes roamed over her body. “Wow, you look stunning.”

“Thanks,” she stuttered. Her heart was beating so hard. “You look nice too.” What an understatement. Ginny had found time to shower, and her neatly combed hair was tucked behind her ears. She had on a pinstripe shirt and fitted jacket, and her masculine trousers hugged her wide thighs. Hermione felt a bit lightheaded. 

“Are you ready?” Ginny seemed amused for some reason.

“Yeah,” Hermione breathed. She thought Ginny would take her hand but she didn’t; instead they walked side-by-side to the lift.

Outside the facility, Ginny pulled her close. “I hope you don’t mind that I chose the coffee shop. It’s a really cute place.”

Hermione shook her head. “Of course not.” She held Ginny’s gaze and was hyperaware of where Ginny touched her: one hand on the small of her back, the other wrapped around her waist. Maybe she imagined it, but she swore that Ginny tightened her hold a fraction. 

They Apparated away and appeared outside a brick-faced shop. The sign hanging above its door read _Trudy’s Treats_ in loopy cursive. Through a large bay window Hermione glimpsed the laughing faces of customers and a few cakes hovering in their large display case. They went inside; the smell of baking scones and the warm glint of gas lamps greeted them.

“Freddie?” Hermione was shocked to recognize the woman behind the counter. “I didn’t know you worked here too!”

Freddie shrugged. “Gotta make rent somehow. Living in London is ridiculous.” She smiled. “Anyway. What can I get you?”

Ginny stood close to Hermione to look at the menu. She was wearing cologne instead of perfume. Hermione shivered.

“The Mexican hot chocolate looks promising,” Ginny said.

“Be careful,” Freddie said. “It makes you breathe fire.”

Ginny snorted. “That’s not ideal for tonight.” She winked at Hermione.

“I suggest our _Chupacabra_ instead. We blend dark chocolate and horchata together and top it with ground almond.”

“What’s horchata?” Hermione asked.

“It’s this creamy rice drink,” Ginny said. “I’ve tried most of its variations while traveling for my job.”

“Aren’t you full of surprises?” Hermione murmured, and she was shocked by her own audacity.

Ginny’s eyes darkened. “Just you wait.”

Flustered, Hermione turned her attention back to Freddie, who’d looked away politely. “I’ll have a caramel latte . . . and a scone.”

The till rang up their purchases while Freddie began making their drinks. They halved the total.

Ginny led them to a nice table in the back. They sat down and napkins pirouetted down to their laps. The tablecloth was trimmed in lace and their placemats were crocheted and delicate; a Victorian pattern with blue ferns and snaking branches covered the walls. The shop looked like Hermione’s nan had decorated it, which she found charming.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to remember Harry’s words. This didn’t need to be complicated. She’d known Ginny for such a long time. 

“I’m sorry again for getting so pissed at your flat,” Hermione said.

Ginny shook her head. “There’s no need to keep apologizing.”

“I know, but . . . I don’t want you to think I’m that kind of person.”

“We’ve been friends forever. I know what you’re like.”

Hermione worried her lip. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She was having a hard time looking at Ginny; there was so much to say and she felt a great pressure to get it right. Best to start with something safe. “Have you heard from Harry?”

Snorting, Ginny said, “Yes. I heard he was a bit of a knob and something about your wards hurting him.”

“He tried Apparating directly into my flat. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

Ginny cocked her head. “Why do you have such strong wards?”

“I’m a single witch living alone. _Of course_ I have wards up. You don’t?”

“No, not really.”

“What? Aren’t you afraid of intruders? Muggles only have to worry about people getting in through their windows; there’s a million ways for wizards to break in!”

Ginny shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it. I’m not too concerned.” She smirked. “I’d like to see somebody try.”

Hermione stared. She’d never seen Ginny like this. Yes, there’d been glimpses. Ginny had always been a bit rough-and-tumble and cocky after growing up around Fred and George. But Hermione could also remember a Ginny who ran away every time Harry entered the room; a Ginny who trailed after Hermione during her first two years at Hogwarts because she was that unsure of herself.

“What?” Ginny asked.

“You’re just acting differently.” She smiled.

“Oh.” Ginny laughed. “I’m trying to impress you. Is it too much?”

Her stomach fluttered. “No, I don’t think so.”

Freddie brought over their food and drinks. Hermione’s scone had currants and she ate it with clotted cream.

Ginny took a sip of her _Chupacabra_ and made a face. “Wow, that’s sweet.”

Hermione tried her latte. “Mine’s delicious.”

Hesitating, Ginny said, “So, I have favor to ask. The Harpies are looking to partner with an organization for community service. Fundraising, that sorta stuff.” Ginny paused. “I might have floated your name around as a prospective partner.”

She was relieved. “That’s great! We’re always looking to partner with others. Putting on these events can be very expensive.”

“I’m not sure how much money we can contribute, but we can definitely help with promotion.”

Hermione frowned. “Your facility is so . . . impressive. Are you sure the Harpies couldn’t afford to hold an event or two?”

“That facility was paid for by donations from male Quidditch players and their very rich coaches.” Ginny’s voice was bitter. “The league throws so much money at the men and we’re left with the scraps.”

“Oh.” Hermione fiddled with her napkin. “There is an event coming up soon. It’s next week, actually. The organization has pretty much everything covered except for . . . well . . . they’re determined to have a blood fountain.”

Ginny laughed. “A fountain of blood? Are they vampires or something?” Hermione didn’t react. “Blimey. They are vampires.”

“It’s for the Vampire Awareness League. They are nice enough but they definitely know how to throw their weight around.”

“Would we be in danger?”

“No! Of course not! VAL is very committed to the advancement of human-creature relations. Just, you know, don’t insult or anger them.”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “How in the hell are we supposed to know what vampires find insulting?”

Hermione scoffed. “You must take me for an amateur. I’m creating _handouts_ for guests. There will be a training for my staff on how to properly interact with vampires. It’s all very sensible.”

Laughing, Ginny said, “You’re amazing! What day is it on?”

Hermione blushed. “It’s next Saturday night. Starts at six.”

“Hmm. That works out. The team’s off that weekend. I’ll have to run it by my coach and get back to you.”

“That sounds great.” Hermione paused; she realized that Viv might be at the event too. _Just ask_ , she thought. _Just get it over with_. “Uh . . . so your fans are interesting.”

“Yeah.” Ginny sounded a bit apologetic.

“Um.” _Just do it!_ “They seem to think that you and . . . the Seeker girl . . . are together.”

Ginny stared with her mouth open. She erupted in laughter. “They know about that?!?” 

“What?” Her heart was pounding. “So it’s _true_?”

It took a moment for Ginny to control herself. She wiped tears from her eyes. “No, of course not. I mean, we kissed—”

“You kissed?”

Ginny paused. “It meant nothing. Viv has a schoolgirl crush on me. It’s absolutely nothing.”

“I was just surrounded by schoolgirls, and they are definitely not nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione didn’t want to admit that she took them seriously. “They are so obsessed with you. There was even this grown woman named Mandy—”

“I know Mandy. She’s great.”

“What?” Hermione was astonished. “She put your face on a cat! Don’t you think it’s a bit _weird_?”

Ginny shrugged. “Of course it’s a bit weird, but they’re fans. That’s what they do. I like that we are idolized. We deserve it. The male players make millions off sponsors and book deals, and we get none of that. I like that there’s horny secretaries who send us care packages.”

“Care packages?” _Horny secretaries?_

“Mandy organizes care packages every time a player gets injured.” Ginny grinned. “It’s all very innocent.”

“What about the underage girls?”

“You saw how I handled that girl in the locker room. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“So there’s nothing between you and Viv?” Hermione asked. “They seemed pretty convinced.”

“Honestly, how would they know? It’s all hearsay and rumors for them.”

She paused. “What about Harry?”

“What about him?”

Hermione finished her latte; she didn’t know how to continue. “He’s still . . . in love with you. I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I thought he gave you his blessing.” Ginny had become very still.

“He did but . . . you know him. Always playing the martyr. He’s been through so much and I don’t want to cause him more pain.”

Ginny frowned. “I think it’s time that we stop making this about him.” She took a deep breath. “You and I are the only ones that matter in this.”

“Yeah.” She understood perfectly. “I want us to go on a date.”

“This isn’t a date?” Ginny smirked.

“You know what I mean. A proper one. With you picking me up and all that.”

“What if I want you to pick me up instead?”

Hermione blushed. “I could do that.”

“I’m only poking fun. Of course I’d want to pick you up.” Ginny paused, and she looked a little nervous. “Just to be clear—I like you very much.”

“Yeah?” Hermione trembled. They stared at one another. “I like you very much, too. Just to be clear.”

“I’m glad we’re being clear,” Ginny said. They shared a laugh. 

Smiling, Hermione said, “I’ve had a lovely time.”

“Good.” Ginny yawned. “God, I’m knackered. Trying to impress a girl after a long practice is _hard_.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to smirk. “I’m glad you’re trying to impress me. I deserve it.”

“Damn right you do.” Ginny licked her lips. “You look great in that dress.”

Hermione held her gaze. “What’s underneath is even better.” Ginny blushed. She was sitting there with her strong shoulders and masculine clothing, and Hermione caused her to _blush_. It made her feel powerful and sexy, like the whole world was at her fingertips.

Ginny finished her drink and stood. She grinned down at Hermione. “I should go before I do something I regret.”

“Okay.” Hermione stood as well. She tried not to be disappointed. Of course they should take things slowly, but right now Hermione wanted to throw caution to the wind. 

They left the shop together; Hermione made sure to wave goodbye to Freddie. At the kerb they paused and looked at each other. Ginny still seemed nervous.

“Well,” Hermione said. She didn’t know where all her confidence was coming from, but she liked it. She’d asked some frank questions and everything had turned out all right.

“Make sure not to Apparate directly into your flat or your wards might think you’ve just escaped from Azkaban.” Ginny was trying to joke, but her delivery was all wrong. She leaned down. For a second Hermione thought she was about to be kissed, but Ginny just brushed her lips against her cheek.

“It’s been fun. I’ll see you soon,” Ginny breathed. She Apparated away.

Hermione laughed and twirled around. She felt like she could run for miles.

Ginny’s lips had been so _soft_.


	4. Chapter 4

Ginny felt like she was floating when she arrived home from their coffee date. Hermione had actually admitted that she had feelings for Ginny, and it made her so giddy, so hopeful, to finally know for sure that her desire wasn’t one-sided.

It took her some time to find parchment to write to Coach Buttersmith. She wasn’t keen on spending an evening with vampires, but she wanted to make Hermione happy, even if it meant just donating some galleons for an icky blood fountain and pressuring her teammates to show up.

Distracted by her thoughts, she spent a good ten minutes overturning drawers and crawling around her writing desk, before she remembered she could _summon things_. Laughing at herself, she Accio’ed parchment and quill, and grimaced when she heard her miscellaneous drawer topple to the floor in her kitchen.

She wrote out her letter and sent it via her good-for-nothing owl, Perkins. As she watched him disappear into the night sky, she prayed that he didn’t get lost again. His sense of direction was shite. 

Exhausted, she quickly got ready for bed but sleep evaded her. She stared up at her ceiling; it was striped with yellow streetlight. Hermione had been so sexy back at the coffee shop. Ginny shivered a little; who knew Hermione had it in her to be so flirtatious and confident? For about the thousandth time, she wondered what Hermione was like in bed. Ginny had always imagined she’d be sweet, docile, but now she had her doubts. She didn’t mind either way.

Given the choice, Ginny usually liked to top during sex, but the idea of submitting to bookish, smaller Hermione was enticing. Hermione had always been so self-assured and capable when it came to her magical prowess, and Ginny wondered if it spilled over into her sex life. She could probably have Ginny tied up and begging with just a few flicks of her wand, and she’d most likely blush and bite her lip while doing it. God. Ginny wanted her. She sat up in bed. What was really stopping her? Hadn’t they waited long enough? Why did they have to tiptoe around each other when they’d know each other forever?

Groaning, Ginny laid back down. She pulled a pillow over her face and squeezed her thighs together, trying to keep calm. _Just be patient_ , she told herself.

*

The next afternoon a reply came from Coach Buttersmith: _Not as high profile as I’d like, but it could still be worth our time. I’m leaving everything up to you. Speak to Mrs Bogdan about the money._

Ginny figured she’d be tasked with organizing everything. She nuzzled Perkins and told him he was a good boy; then she stuck her wand out the window and summoned a rental owl to deliver her next two letters. The first was to Hermione explaining that things were good to go, and the second was to Bogdan, who managed the Harpies’ books. Then she Floo’ed Lupe and Viv to see if they would be willing to attend. Lupe rolled her eyes but ultimately agreed to be there; Viv thought it wasn’t as good as partnering with VOTE.

“We can work with them next time,” Ginny told her. “Think about what kind of event we could hold with VOTE and I promise to help organize it.”

Viv nodded. “Okay. Count me in.” She paused and glanced away nervously. “Would you want to go together?”

Ginny tried not to flinch. “No, I’m sorry. I’m going with someone else.”

“Oh,” Viv said, looking quite crestfallen. “I understand.”

A few minutes after their Floo ended, a response from Hermione arrived: _That’s great! I’ve set up a meeting with VAL’s director tomorrow night. If you can come, maybe we can get dinner afterward?_ She included the meeting’s information and added a postscript: _Just to be clear: I’m hoping the dinner will be a DATE date. Do I make sense?_

 _God, yes, you do_ , Ginny thought, smiling fondly. She ran her thumb over the letter. Her stomach squirmed. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

*

They met at a coffee shop near Hermione’s flat. Hermione blushed when she spotted Ginny, and Ginny couldn’t help swaggering up to the counter to order a cappuccino. Once they both got their coffee, they peered around for the vampire. He loomed in a dark corner, looking very much like Professor Snape, but taller and less greasy.

They approached him. 

“This is Khristofor,” Hermione said.

He shook Ginny’s hand enthusiastically. “Call me Kris. It’s an honor to meet you! I’m a big fan!” He had a Russian accent and his sharp fangs gleamed.

Ginny was amused. “You’re a Harpies’ fan?”

“Are you really?” Hermione asked, shocked.

“I shall show you something,” Kris said, and retrieved something from his leather wallet. It was a membership card to Mandy’s club.

“No way,” Ginny said, laughing. “Do you attend our games?”

Kris looked mournful. “No. So many humans gathered in one area like that is too tempting for me.”

Ginny gulped. “Understandable.”

“So!” Hermione said a bit awkwardly. “Does this mean you would like VAL and the Harpies to partner for the benefit?”

“It depends.” Kris turned to Ginny. “Do you know Gwenog Jones?”

“Err—yes?” Jones had played for the Harpies for damn near twenty years, and she was their most legendary star.

Kris clapped his hands together. “That’s fantastic! What’s she like?”

“She’s one of the toughest people I know,” Ginny said.

“Do you think she could attend our benefit?” Kris’ excitement made him lisp a bit. “We’d charge more at the door and the Harpies wouldn’t have to put up any money.”

“Then you’d be able to afford your blood fountain!” Hermione matched his excitement.

“I can’t promise anything. As you know, Jones is quite prominent and she is a very busy person.”

Kris hung his head. “I understand.” He peered up at Ginny with incredible intensity, his eyes black and magnetic. “We both know you really want Gwenog Jones there.”

“Khristofor! Stop it!” Hermione was angry. “Hypnosis is against the rules! The Ministry will not stand for it!”

“Sorry.” He looked a little bashful. “I promise not to try it again.”

Ginny blinked. Her head felt funny. “Like I said, I’ll try to get Jones to come, but I need your word that you or any other vampire won’t try to . . . hypnotize us.”

Kris held both hands to his heart. “I give you my word.”

Worrying her lip, Hermione said, “So, do we have a deal? Do you agree to partner with the Harpies, even if Jones might not be able to make it?”

“Yes, we have a deal.” He shook Ginny’s hand. She shivered.

*

After the meeting Ginny and Hermione walked back to Hermione’s flat. Ginny had accepted her invitation to dinner, but Hermione wanted to stop by her place to finish getting ready.

“You don’t mind?” Hermione asked.

Ginny shrugged. “Nope. It means I get to hang out with Liz.” Even though they’d just gotten done making plans with a hypnotizing vampire, Ginny couldn’t focus on anything other than the dinner ahead. She had let Hermione pick the location this time, and she hoped the restaurant wasn’t too posh. 

At the flat Ginny scooped up the cat into her arms and sat down on the sofa. Hermione rushed to her bedroom and closed the door. Ginny was pleased that she seemed concerned about her appearance—it was proof that this dinner meant something to her.

Liz was purring up a storm. She scratched behind her ears and kissed her cheeks. She’d have to remember to spell away all the cat hair on her shirt. Nothing was less appealing than getting pet fur in the appetizer. 

About fifteen minutes later Hermione remerged from her bedroom. Ginny’s jaw dropped.

Hermione had squeezed into an off-the-shoulder black cocktail dress, and the soft-looking material clung to all her delicious curves. Her hair was curled up into a messy bun, and the hairstyle made Hermione look like a recently-fucked schoolmistress. Her mouth went dry.

Gently setting down Liz, Ginny sauntered over to Hermione.

Something strange always came over Ginny when she was alone with a woman she wanted to fuck. She stood taller, her stance widened, and she smirked. She knew the expression could be off-putting, but she couldn’t help it. Her smirk said, _you’re mine tonight_. 

Hermione’s eyes were big; she’d applied winged eyeliner and shimmery eyeshadow. Her lips were red and glossy, and plump. Ginny wanted to eat her up. She took Hermione into her arms, casually, like it was something they’d done for ages.

“Please—I need to kiss you,” Ginny murmured.

Hermione exhaled loudly. “Okay.”

Their lips brushed and Ginny felt Hermione relax in her arms. Ginny gained a bit more confidence and kissed her with more vigor. She pulled Hermione closer, and shivered when she felt her breasts against her own. She ran her hands down her back, over her hips, behind to knead her arse.

Hermione pulled away, gasping.

“You like that?” Ginny asked lowly, using all her fingers to squeeze and caress. Hermione kissed her again, desperate. Hermione parted her lips and their tongues brushed, which caused them both to moan softly. 

They kissed for another minute or two, then Ginny drew back, laughing. “Wow.”

“Yeah,” Hermione whispered, her cheeks quite pink. She stepped back. “So. Dinner.”

Ginny laughed again. “Yeah. Dinner. We should go to that.”

“We should.” Hermione smiled.

“Oh, no, I got cat fur all over you.” Ginny brushed at Hermione’s dress, letting her palm linger over her breasts, her warm stomach.

Hermione stared at her hand. “It’s . . . all right. I’m used to it.” She Summoned her wand and Vanished all the fur on her dress and Ginny’s clothes.

Grinning, Ginny took her hand. “We should go before I pin you to that sofa.”

“Okay.” Hermione pulled her to the Floo but her eyes glittered mischievously. They Floo’ed to the restaurant, Hermione arriving first, then Ginny a moment later. Hermione spent some time brushing ash from her dress. Ginny did the same for her shirt.

The restaurant was elegant with globe chandeliers and brass fixtures. An enormous mural depicting battling centaurs and wizards covered an entire wall. They were led to a polished table and comfy chairs.

They avoided each other’s eyes as they examined the menu. Gas lamps glittered above their heads, a candle’s flame jumping between them on the table, and Hermione’s skin looked golden.

“I’m thinking about getting the lamb,” Ginny said.

Hermione giggled. “Me too.”

“Do you want some wine?”

Shaking her head, Hermione said, “No. I don’t want to spoil anything.” Her eyes were dark.

Ginny gulped. She was glad when the waiter came up to take their orders. When he went away, Hermione looked at her speculatively.

“What?” Ginny said. 

“I’m just slightly shocked that we’re here,” she said. “I was thinking about how ruthlessly you stuck up for Harry right before you two got together. You yelled at me for lecturing him or something.”

Ginny was a little ashamed. “It was the first time he’d expressed real interest in me! You know how I used to be around him!”

Smiling, Hermione said, “I do.” She paused. “Being surrounded by all those teenagers at your open practice made me realize just how _straight_ everyone was back at school.” 

“Or maybe just how much people didn’t talk about it.”

“Right.” Hermione shook her head. “Does it make you feel like you missed something?”

Ginny thought for a moment. “I feel like I’ve missed out every time I discuss my sexuality with other lesbians. It seems like all my friends came out of the womb knowing they were attracted to women, and it took me a very long time to figure it out.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Why do you think it took that long?”

“I dunno . . . so many boys fancied me back at Hogwarts and I liked the attention. I also liked being around all my boyfriends. I guess I just assumed that meant I was romantically interested in them.”

“We’re conditioned to be straight. It’s not right!” Hermione looked every inch the girl who devoted her entire fourth year knitting outerwear for elf rights. 

“You’re amazing.” Ginny touched her knee beneath the table. “Have I already told you that?”

Hermione went pink. “Yes . . . I think so.” She was suddenly shy; she said the next bit to her lap: “I think you’re amazing, too.”

“Even though I yelled at you while trying to impress Harry?” Ginny smiled gently. 

“Funny enough I’ve forgiven you for that.” Hermione seemed like she was dying to say something. She laughed nervously. “You must think I’m a slag.”

Ginny was very confused. “Why would I ever think that?!”

“Ron.” She fiddled with her napkin.

Ginny was quiet for a few moments. “I don’t think you’re a slag for dating me after what happened. I don’t know what you think is expected of you. Are you supposed to lock yourself away for the rest of your life because he’s gone? He was my brother and I know for a fact he would never want you to do that.”

“I know, I know,” Hermione said. “It’s just that—ugh. It’s hard to explain.”

Their lamb arrived then; they paid both plates little attention. 

Hermione continued: “I feel like I’m retroactively cheating on him. I—I had these feelings for you when he was still alive—”

“Really?” Ginny blushed. 

“Yeah,” Hermione said, unable to remain looking at her. “I’ve fancied you since we were teens, and it made me guilty when I was with Ron, like I was cheating on him by just having those thoughts. And now—”

“Now things are different.” Ginny took her hand. “You are so loyal and you have such a big heart. That’s one of the many things that I admire about you.” She squeezed Hermione’s hand. “But what is there to gain by remaining loyal to someone who is . . . dead at the loss of your own happiness?”

“Nothing,” Hermione whispered. She smiled and pulled her hand away. “Let’s eat before this goes cold.”

Somebody had started playing a piano in the corner, and Ginny let the soothing music wash over her as she ate. The lamb was good, but she couldn’t really focus on anything other than Hermione’s proximity. She wanted to drop everything and race home to slip her hand into her knickers.

Once they finished their meal, Ginny was a bit rude in waving over the waiter for the check. “I hope you’re ready to leave,” she said.

Hermione nodded. “Yes.”

They split the check down the middle again. They rushed to the Floo.

When they arrived back to Hermione’s flat, Ginny pulled Hermione to the bedroom, not caring if she was assuming too much. Hermione laughed. Inside her room, Ginny kicked her door shut and kissed Hermione deeply. They both moaned.

Ginny knew she was rushing things, but she didn’t care. She was frantic. 

She dropped to her knees. Why did women wear dresses if not for this? She hiked Hermione’s skirt up, pushed her lacy knickers to the side, and sunk her tongue into her. Hermione cried out. 

Oh, fuck. She was already so wet and it gathered on Ginny’s tongue. She pulled her hips closer and angled her head so that her tongue could reach deeper inside. She licked and drilled like she was trying to get to the center of something. Hermione’s knees buckled, and Ginny had to pin her to the door.

Ginny drew back a little. “Fuck my face,” she said roughly. “I know you can.” She placed Hermione’s hands on the back of her head.

“Oh lord,” Hermione whispered. Her bun had come loose, messy strands falling everywhere. Their eyes locked. She tightened her fingers in Ginny’s hair and ground on her face, her big dark eyes watching everything.

Ginny relaxed her mouth and let her tongue move with Hermione. She covered one of Hermione’s hands with her own, and pulled roughly. Getting the idea, Hermione twisted Ginny’s hair in her fist as she fucked her face.

 _Yes_ , Ginny thought, her eyes fluttering closed. This was divine. Hermione filled her nose, smeared her chin, and Ginny felt like she was floating. She thrust her tongue deeply into Hermione, and held it there, tasting so fucking deep inside, unable to breathe, unable to move, but she didn’t care, thinking: _I’d love to die like this_.

“Oh, Ginny,” Hermione murmured. She moaned deep in her chest, her breathing fast and loud. She pulled Ginny to her feet and went to kiss her but stopped. Ginny knew why. Hermione’s arousal glistened on her mouth, her chin, even a little on her nose, and Hermione could probably _smell_ it.

Ginny crowded her against the door and kissed her feverishly, not giving her any room to move away. She wanted Hermione to taste herself. She slipped her tongue past Hermione’s lips, and moaned when she felt some of the wet smear against Hermione’s mouth. Hermione kissed back, a little hesitant.

Breaking the kiss, Ginny said, “You taste so fucking good.” She slid her hand down into Hermione’s soaked knickers and fucked her with one, then two fingers. She withdrew, loving how Hermione’s arousal webbed her knuckles. Catching her eye, she licked one digit clean; Hermione panted.

Ginny pressed one of her fingers to Hermione’s lips, challenging her to open up. Hermione sucked her finger into her mouth, tasting herself, her tongue curling and stroking. Ginny framed her face and kissed her deeply. She drew Hermione to the bed.

Hermione let herself be guided away from the door, but she yanked off her dress and stockings on the way, her movements wild. She tore off her bra, and they ended up on the bedding, Ginny cradling her breasts with both hands, her mouth and tongue gliding over her perk nipples.

“Yes,” Hermione said, burying her hands in Ginny’s thick hair. Ginny couldn’t think, she couldn’t focus, all she wanted was _more_ of Hermione. She mouthed along her quivering stomach, nipping at her cute bellybutton. Ginny wanted to tease her through her knickers, but Hermione ripped them off. “Hurry up . . .” 

Ginny wanted to stop all together. She wanted to sit back and just watch as Hermione squirmed, pleaded, her soft hands tugging at her to get a move on. She wanted to stare deep into Hermione’s eyes and demand that she _ask nicely_ before Ginny touched her again.

But—it was too soon for that. Ginny didn’t want to scare her away. They would have to work up to that sort of play.

 _There’ll be other times_ , Ginny told herself. Later she’d go slow, take her time learning Hermione’s body, sucking and licking every inch. This time she pushed Hermione’s thighs apart and sunk her tongue into her again. She wanted to hear Hermione shout, and she got it: Hermione threw her head back, and cried out. Grinning a little, Ginny concentrated on her clit, tonguing the nub, sucking it, even taking it between her teeth and pausing to see Hermione react. 

“F-fuck,” Hermione whimpered.

“Hold yourself open,” Ginny said roughly. It took Hermione a moment to understand, but finally her hands came down to part her lips, revealing her clit even more. 

Ginny flattened her tongue and dragged it from the bottom of her cunt to her clit, then repeated it over and over, quickly, messily, until Hermione was crying out again and Ginny’s mouth and chin dripped with saliva and arousal. She sucked hard at her nub, flicking her tongue, once again adding teeth, testing to see how rough she could be with her.

Hermione’s eyes were twisted closed, her beautiful mouth hanging open, and Ginny felt a bit crazed. She pushed her legs to her chest, not caring if she was hurting her. “Hold them,” she ordered, and Hermione grabbed behind her knees, holding herself open like she was told, even though she trembled a great deal. Again, Ginny fucked her with her tongue, reaching deeper than she ever had, knowing that Hermione was getting close by the change in her taste. Ginny licked and probed, moaning, her mind swirling, not caring that Hermione’s arousal lingered, thick and warm, on her tongue. The taste wasn’t good, but it came from deep inside Hermione; it came from a place very few had ever reached. The scent and favor would stay with Ginny for a long time.

Hermione was moaning continuously. Ginny thrust particularly deep, and she writhed, her walls clinging to Ginny’s tongue. She knew Hermione was on the edge. This part took strength and coordination. Ginny increased the speed of her tongue’s thrusts and licks while rubbing her clit with her thumb.

“Don’t stop,” Hermione whispered. She clawed on the sheets, grinding down on Ginny’s mouth. Ginny couldn’t really see her face, but she knew Hermione was coming when she arched her back, stilling, her thighs gripping her head tightly.

Light burst behind Ginny’s eyelids, her stomach squirming; she didn’t have a cock inside Hermione, but feeling a woman come on her tongue or fingers always hurdled her toward orgasm. She clenched like she was the one getting tongue-fucked.

When Hermione came down, Ginny kissed her slowly, their lips lingering together. 

“What do you want?” Hermione asked.

 _Everything_ , Ginny wanted to reply, but instead said: “Your fingers.”

Hermione bit her lip. “I might not be very good.”

“I don’t care.” Ginny took off her clothes. She dragged Hermione’s hand to in between her thighs. “Start with two fingers, but once warmed up I can take four.”

Moaning, Hermione dipped inside her, oh so carefully. Her soft mouth kissed along her neck, down to her breasts. Her tongue was so very warm on Ginny’s nipples.

“More,” Ginny gasped. They could do this slow exploration later, but right now Ginny wanted to come. She sneaked a hand down to play with her own clit. “Get four fingers inside me and thrust quickly while curling them up.”

“Okay.” Hermione sat up a bit to give herself better leverage. Her brow was creased in concentration as she worked four fingers inside and then started moving them in and out with speed.

“Hermione,” Ginny moaned. She was bearing down hard on her fingers. It was good, but it’d be even better with more lube. She grabbed for her wand and whispered a spell, a pool of liquid appearing in her palm. “Here. Get me even wetter.”

“Okay.” Hermione was quite focused. She collected the lube in her hand and resumed her thrusting. Ginny’s back arched. _Oh, God, Yes._ She was so close. 

“Hermione,” she whispered again. “I’m gonna come, love.” How many times had she imagined calling out Hermione’s name during sex? Now it was fucking reality. She came from that thought, warm pleasure rushing through her. She was making the most the pitiful noise, but she didn’t care. She loved it. She loved Hermione. 

Hermione laughed. “Wow.” She seemed to not know what to do with her slick hand. Ginny tiredly hit them both with cleaning spells. She pulled Hermione into her arms.

“That was great.” She kissed Hermione’s temple, her warm cheek. 

“Yeah.” Hermione still sounded shocked. “I can’t believe we just slept together.”

Ginny searched her face. “It’s a good thing, yeah?”

Nodding, Hermione said, “The best thing.”

“Good.” Ginny cradled her closer and closed her eyes. 

After a while, she slipped down between Hermione’s thighs again. Hermione blinked down at her.

“What are you doing?” She laughed.

“Hmm. Let’s see how quickly I can get you to come again.” Ginny tongued her clit oh so softly. Hermione moaned and dropped back to the pillows. 

Ginny would take her time this round. She’d gone down on her last girlfriend for three hours the first time they’d fucked, and now she wanted to see if she could break that record. They had all night.


	5. Chapter 5

The vampire awareness benefit was going well.

VAL had picked out the decorations for the banquet hall, and it was what you’d expect. Black velvet draped from the rafters, a cloud of bats zipping around the medieval chandeliers (it took a clever combination of charms to save the heads of guests from a rain of bat shite), an orchestra of hags and goblins playing a number of macabre melodies.

To Hermione’s delight, the hall was quite crowded, with an interesting mix of humans and magical creatures. The Harpies were definitely the main attraction, but Hermione also spied a pack of disheveled werewolves, a group of Spartan ghosts drifting by in sandals and tunics, even a couple of free elves who seemed a bit critical of the food (“Dilly could make a better custard in her sleep!”).

Overall, it looked like everyone was behaving themselves, which was a relief. Since Kris’ attempt to hypnotize Ginny, Hermione had been committed to guest safety during the event. She made Mrs Danvers contact a few more experts on human/vampire relations in preparation for the staff training, and Mrs Danvers had been quite good at including the new information in all the handouts. Hermione looked for her among the crowd, and spotted her with her brushy-mustached husband, clad in stern black robes and clutching a slinky purse. Hermione imagined the purse to be a ring of heavy keys that unlocked all the doors in _Rebecca_ ’s Manderley. 

Snorting, she went to grab herself a flute of pumpkin juice and paused when she caught sight of the blood fountain. She’d been present when it was delivered, but this was her first time seeing it spurt blood and ripple. The fountain pulsed like it had a heartbeat, and it gave off a moist heat. Hermione didn’t know if she was imagining it, but she swore she could smell the blood. Trying not to gag, she cast _Prohibere Nidore_ to contain the odor.

Flute in hand, Hermione toured the room, making sure everything was in order. She spotted Viv with another player on the dance floor, and she shook her head. Off a broom, Viv reminded her of Krum with her awkward limbs and slightly crouched posture. Hermione looked away, exasperated at herself for ever thinking Viv and Ginny were together, and spotted Gwenog Jones among the Harpies table. Ginny had managed to get her here! 

Hermione had never seen a woman who looked like Jones. She made Hermione think of Mad-Eye Moody; something painful had slashed up her face, her right eye dragged down by a deep scar. Her grey dreadlocks were strung up in a loose ponytail, her dark eyes sharp and glittery. A smirk pulled at her mouth and she looked like she was laughing at everyone. She probably had terrified her opponents with that ruthless smirk and those challenging eyes. Staring her down on the pitch, opponents probably felt like they had nowhere to hide, no way to escape. Hermione understood why Jones was adored. 

There was a horde of fans, a mix of humans and creatures, staring at Jones in awe. Hermione recognized a few faces. A vampire tried to close in on Mandy, but she stuck her wand up his nose. Karla and the other teenagers giggled in a corner and whispered to each other whenever one of the players did something ordinary like grab a plate of food or hug a friend.

Then there was Ginny. She stood among the other players in tuxedo dress robes, laughing, conversing, utterly relaxed. She had done something different with her hair; it was shiny and fell down her back in luscious waves. Hermione couldn’t look at her for very long, or she’d remember her hot mouth, her brilliant, _brilliant_ tongue. They hadn’t slept together since their first time—Hermione had been swamped with last minute event planning—but they had agreed to go home together tonight. 

Needing a distraction, she turned her attention to her vampire guests. She wanted them to leave this event with a better opinion about the Ministry, and it fell on her shoulders to please them, to make them feel comfortable around wizards and witches, to begin trusting the government. The Ministry had treated them poorly in the past, taking away rights, expelling them from Britain, even tracking them down with stakes and potions that turned their bodies to dust. 

But all that was over. In her mind, vampires existed for a reason, and it wasn’t their fault that they had to live off human blood. Everything in this world had a purpose, and each magical being deserved respect no matter if they lived off cows and chickens or human blood and . . . whatever Dementors consumed.

She found Kris. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

His face was very bright; he’d probably be flushed with pleasure if he was still alive. “Yes! Immensely! Gwen actually _shook my hand_.”

“And you two are now on first name basis!” Hermione said. “That’s exciting!”

Kris looked embarrassed. “Well, she doesn’t know that I call her Gwen. Please don’t bring it up with her.”

Even though Hermione really wanted to laugh, she simply smiled and asked, “I hope you are enjoying the fountain as well?”

He peered over her head at the fountain and a hungry expression came over his face. “Oh, yes . . . very much.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” She left to get away from that look. Yes, vampires deserved respect, but that didn’t mean she had to stick around to be creeped out.

Harry approached her. He wore green robes and sipped champagne from a ruby flute. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she mimicked, grinning. 

“So.” He coughed. “I heard you and Ginny are together now.”

“From whom?” Hermione asked, her stomach turning. She didn’t think she was ready for the Weasleys to know yet. She imagined Molly hearing the news, and flinching horribly . . . maybe she’d even send Hermione a howler and not give her any Christmas presents, like she’d done back when Hermione was a teen and Molly thought she was breaking Harry’s heart.

Harry held his hands up. “Ginny told me. Don’t worry.” He seemed a bit sad, but then he perked up. “I had a date not too long ago and it went very well.”

“That’s great!” Hermione said. She wanted to ask more questions, but she didn’t want to make Harry uncomfortable. 

Mrs Danvers appeared at her shoulder. “You’re needed up front for your speech, Miss.”

“Thank you.” Hermione smiled apologetically at Harry. “Sorry to dash off.”

“It’s totally fine,” he said, smiling.

She made it to the front just as Kris began his speech. The crowd grew quiet to listen. “Thank you everyone for showing up to support VAL.” Nerves made him lisp and Hermione stopped listening. She’d already read over his comments a few times.

When it was her turn, she tapped her throat with her wand so that everyone in the room could hear her. Then she smiled brightly. “I would like to thank VAL for partnering with the Ministry and the Holyhead Harpies for this event . . .”

It was strange to watch the audience as she gave a speech. People in a crowd thought they were hidden among the numbers, but that wasn’t the case. Once Hermione had gotten comfortable with public speaking, and her mind didn’t swirl with fear of tripping over her words or wondering what people thought of her, she could relax and watch her audience’s reaction. Tonight they didn’t really care about what she was saying, which was fine—most crowds didn’t—but she enjoyed spying on what everyone was doing. A few tables to her left a ghost was picking her nose. To her right stood Gwenog Jones and the Harpies’ coach, both scarred and intimidating. They stood quite close to one another, and the coach’s hand crept up Jones’ thigh. Hermione wasn’t the only one who was going to have a good time after the event. Straight ahead stood Ginny. Their eyes locked and Hermione almost lost her train of thought. Ginny was leering at her like she was prey, like Ginny was mentally undressing her and imagining fucking her in front of all these people. 

Hermione looked away. No. She had to focus. She was _working_ and she couldn’t let herself be distracted. VAL was counting on her.

Once the event had ended, Ginny found her among the cleaning staff as they tried to figure out what to do with the blood fountain.

“Need any help?” Ginny whispered into her ear.

Hermione suppressed a shiver. “No, I don’t think so. We’re just trying to figure out if we can simply _Evanesco_ the remaining blood . . .” She turned and got her first close up look at Ginny in her tuxedo robes. She was damn near speechless. “Give me ten minutes. Meet at the Floos.” She went to go find Mrs Danvers to put her in charge of any remaining duties.

When they arrived at Hermione’s flat, she petted Liz apologetically. “So sorry, sweetheart, but tonight you need to go away.” She thought Ginny would pounce on her, but she was mistaken; instead they sat on the sofa, holding hands.

“You’re so beautiful,” Ginny whispered. She leaned in to kiss her softly on the cheek and then capture her lips in a slow burning kiss. 

Wanting to savor the gentle tension, Hermione carefully brushed her tongue over Ginny’s mouth. Ginny moaned and parted her lips, and Hermione slipped inside, exploring the taste of her. “Yum, butterbeer,” she said, which made Ginny laugh quietly. She massaged Ginny’s tongue with her own; Ginny moaned and sucked and lapped in return. Their saliva mingled, warm and a bit sticky, and Hermione was already throbbing, thinking about how deeply Ginny had penetrated her last time.

Hermione fisted the lapels on Ginny’s robes. “God, I never want you to take these off.”

Grinning, Ginny said, “Yeah? Tell me why.”

“Because . . .” She ran her hands over Ginny’s muscular shoulders, her hard biceps, her soft but small breasts. The combination of hard and soft was intoxicating; she’d gotten a taste of it before, but now she really wanted to take her time to feel Ginny’s gorgeous build. She sat back to admire how the robes outlined her upper body, and how you could spot the swell of Ginny’s chest even through the masculine clothing and sports bra. “I love these robes because I can tell you’re a woman even though nothing about them is feminine. You make them feminine just by wearing them.”

Ginny laughed. “Yeah?”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione crawled into her lap. “Don’t laugh at me.” She undid a few buttons on her collar to tease her neck with her tongue. 

Ginny moaned and bared her throat more. “I’m not . . .” Her hands roamed down her back to knead her arse. 

“You like my bottom.” Hermione sucked and licked at her neck.

“Fuck yes.” She kneaded it especially hard. “It’s quite squeezable.”

“Hmm,” she said, and bit down on her neck. Ginny arched into her mouth, moaning. Hermione liked that she could straddle Ginny and make her moan; it made her feel powerful and sexy. There’d been glimpses of this feeling with Ron, but she’d always let his wants move things forward.

There was also something not very nice that made her feel powerful. Ginny had chosen her, not Harry or Dean or even awkward Viv. All those fangirls fantasizing about her, and Hermione was the one she wanted. How many times had Hermione witnessed people coveting Ginny? In those final years at school she’d been the most popular girl in Gryffindor, and it’d seemed like every boy in Hermione’s year had wanted to sleep with her. God, she’d even captured the attention of the Boy Who Lived, and somehow, someway, she’d turned down all of them to be with Hermione. It made her want to shout with joy. It made her want to beat her fists in the air in triumph.

God, Hermione was ready to be happy. She was tired of spending her nights alone; she was tired of forcing herself to look away every time Ginny was near. Most of all, she was tired of being her own biggest critic. She was a good person. She’d worked hard all her life. Now she deserved to do something for herself. And if “doing something for herself” meant shagging Ginny’s brains out then so be it.

She kissed Ginny desperately. Ginny clung to her back and let her control the kiss, sensing her possessiveness. Their tongues moved together, slick and warm. 

Drawing back a little, Ginny asked, “What do you want?”

“Your fingers, your mouth,” Hermione said. “Anything. Everything.”

Ginny stood and pulled Hermione to her feet. She began taking off her robes but Hermione stopped her.

“No . . . keep them on for now.”

Instead Ginny helped remove Hermione’s dress robes, revealing her black bra and stockings underneath. “Do you care about these?” she asked, running her fingers along the nylon. 

“No,” Hermione whispered. 

Ginny ripped a hole in the stockings at the groin. She bent Hermione over the sofa and sunk two fingers into her. Hermione widened her legs, ready to take whatever Ginny wanted to do to her. Ginny fucked her leisurely, exploring. After a minute or so, Ginny said, “I’ve brought a strap-on with me. Do you want to try it out?”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. Oh, _god_. “Yes.”

“Let’s go to the bedroom.”

In the bedroom Ginny took out a small case from her pocket and enlarged it. Inside was a small collection of colorful dildos. Hermione tried not to blush. 

“Do you own stuff like this?” Ginny asked.

“I have a vibrator,” Hermione said. “Does that count?”

“Kind of.” Ginny pulled out a pair of underpants that had a hole for a dildo. “Ever use one of these?”

Now she was really blushing. “No.” She touched the soft cotton of the pants. “I didn’t know they made harnesses like this.”

“Yeah . . . I don’t really care for the ones with straps. They look too Muggle and industrial.”

Hermione laughed. “I can see that.” She peered into the case. “Are these magical?”

Nodding, Ginny said, “You can change their size and shape; they can even vibrate if you want . . . but I find the vibrations too intense.”

“Oh.” Hermione pulled out a pink dildo; it’s only resemblance to a penis was its mushroomed head. “You’ve used these on other women?”

“A few.” Ginny watched her. “Does that bother you?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

“Yeah.” Ginny’s voice was rough. “Do you want me to use that one on you tonight?”

Her stomach lurched. She loved the idea of being fucked by something pink and feminine. “Yes, please.”

Ginny laughed and kissed her. “I like hearing you say please.” She pushed Hermione back on the bed.

“ _Please_ fuck me,” Hermione said, smiling mischievously. They slowly undressed each other, the remains of Hermione’s stockings catching on her heels. She took enormous pleasure easing the tuxedo robes off Ginny’s shoulders, revealing her pale and freckled chest.

When they were both starkers, Ginny kissed down Hermione’s throat to her breasts, taking a nipple into her mouth and biting gently. Hermione whimpered. Ginny moaned in response and grabbed her breast with both hands, caressing. She took much of it into her mouth, whirling her tongue. She did the same with the other breast, leaving a little patch of saliva in her wake. 

Squirming, Hermione whispered, “Please . . .” Her hands were clawing at Ginny’s back, urging her to move down.

Ginny resisted, smirking. “How do you want me to fuck you? Do you really want the strap-on?” She scrapped her thumbnail over Hermione’s nipple, making her cry out.

“I—I don’t care . . .”

Having far too much fun, Ginny did her best McGonagall impression: “I find that answer _unsatisfactory_ , Ms Granger. Try again.”

God! Hermione couldn’t think; she could barely breathe. What did she want? She wanted to be filled; she ached for it. She wanted Ginny to fill her up so much that it _hurt_.

She tried to focus. She could speak. She could. Licking her lips, she said, “I want your fingers, then I want you to fuck me with that pink dildo.”

“Very good,” Ginny said, and slid down to lick her briefly. Hermione cried out; she hadn’t expected that! Her thighs fell open to make room, but Ginny wasn’t down there for long; she kissed back up to Hermione’s stomach, nibbling at her bellybutton.

Ginny moved a bit to the side and propped herself up by an arm. She gazed down at Hermione with lidded eyes, her face flushed. She put two fingers into Hermione, watching her expression. Hermione fought the urge to hide her face in the pillows. 

“You feel so good around my fingers,” Ginny whispered, rubbing deep inside, her thumb rotating over Hermione’s clit. 

Hermione was whimpering, her mouth falling open. She knew she was probably making a ridiculous expression, but she didn’t have the ability to care. Ginny’s fingers felt too good.

“Please . . . go faster.”

“Since you asked so nicely . . .” Ginny sped up her thrusting, adding another finger, rubbing deeper, harder. Hermione’s thighs began shaking. “Oh, no . . . none of that.” Ginny pulled her fingers out and Hermione gave a frustrated whine. “We can’t have you come too soon.”

Hermione sat up, desperately searching for the pants and dildo. “Come on . . . I’m done waiting.”

Ginny laughed and Summoned both items. She stood to pull on the pants and insert the dildo. She wiggled her hips, letting the dildo flop about. She was joking around, but Hermione didn’t think she’d ever seen anything hotter. God. Ginny’s muscular shoulders, her long beautiful hair, her incredibly pink nipples, and her taut stomach . . .

“Get over here,” Hermione said, panting. Ginny crawled back on the bed, and Hermione yanked her on top of her. Her breasts were so warm against her own; Hermione ran her hands over Ginny’s shoulders, feeling the strength there. She wrapped her legs around Ginny’s hips, making sure she couldn’t move away. “Enough of the jokes. Just . . . get in me.”

“All right,” Ginny said, strained. She muttered a lube charm to wet the dildo; she smeared the remaining lube on Hermione’s clit. She crouched in position; Hermione reached down to hold her lips back to help guide her. 

Ginny thrust in slowly, gently, her hand holding the dildo’s base. Hermione panted and tried to not clench; even though it was average size, its mushroomed head hurt a bit.

“All right?” Ginny breathed. 

“Hurts a little,” Hermione said. “Start moving and I’ll get used to it.”

She nodded and began to thrust in and out, intense concentration on her face. The head hit somewhere deep and wonderful inside Hermione; she clutched at the sheets, forgetting about holding herself open, but it didn’t matter: Ginny pushed back her lips to watch the dildo sink in and out, her pupils enormous. Her thumb rotated over Hermione’s clit, her thrusts speeding up.

“Oh god—” Hermione grabbed at Ginny’s upper arms, needing to anchor herself. She wanted to feel Ginny on top of her. “Please—come here.”

Ginny laid against her, pressing her mouth to her neck. She entangled her fingers in Hermione’s hair and grasped her hip for leverage; she thrust as hard as she could. “Oh!” Hermione was utterly lost; she couldn’t stop panting; sweat gathered between them. 

She clawed at Ginny’s thick thighs, her muscular back. “Deeper . . .” Ginny obliged, grunting, her hips smacking against Hermione’s. Ginny gritted her teeth with the effort. 

Oh . . . _oh_ , she was going to come. Hermione snaked a hand down to rub herself, her other hand clutching at Ginny’s shoulder, feeling the muscles move there. Oh, fuck. She was going to come. She clenched down hard . . . almost there . . . but, oh, no: she clenched too hard and the dildo popped out. Ginny didn’t realize; she kept on thrusting.

“Gin—wait.”

“What?” Ginny panted.

“You’re out of me.”

Laughing breathlessly, she sat back on her heels to guide the dildo back in; her thrusts were smooth, deep, but she didn’t fall back on top of Hermione. 

“You want me bigger?” Ginny whispered.

“Yes . . . _please_.” Hermione widened her legs, preparing herself. Ginny muttered something and Hermione felt the dildo enlarge inside her. “Oh . . . fuck . . .” Her walls clung to the dildo as Ginny withdrew a bit. 

Ginny paused. “You think you can take it bigger?”

“Yes . . .” Hermione exclaimed when she felt the dildo grow even more. She was definitely going to ache after this. “God . . . go s-slowly.”

“Yeah.” Ginny’s face was lined with sweat. She inched back into Hermione, her eyes glued to the dildo. Hermione writhed . . . it was so big . . . it was filling her up so nicely. “Touch yourself,” Ginny commanded.

Hermione did as she was told, her middle finger rubbing furiously. Ginny slowly sped up her thrusts, the enlarged head hitting all the right places inside her. She was going to come . . . her toes curled . . . pressure built everywhere . . . she couldn’t breathe from it . . .

“Fuck, come for me, love,” Ginny said, her hand back to guiding the dildo so that Hermione didn’t push it out again.

There was so much pressure; Hermione was going crazy from it. Pleasure licked up her spine, down her thighs, but it was muted . . . her orgasm hovered just out of reach . . . there was just too much pressure. Ginny thrust as hard as she could, and Hermione was overcome: She clenched down hard, her ears buzzing with white noise, and she gushed a large amount of liquid.

“Whoa!” Ginny sounded like she was having the time of her life. “That’s incredible!”

The sheets were soaked between them. Hermione was mortified and also a little grumpy. It still felt like she needed to come. 

Ginny’s grin was enormous. “I just made you squirt.”

Snorting, Hermione said, “Congratulations. Now get over here and finish me off with your fingers.” She Summoned her wand to clean up her mess.

“No—wait! Let’s keep it for now.”

Hermione frowned. “But it will soak into your mattress.”

“Just . . . I like it. I’ll clean it up after we’re done.” 

They moved to the other side of the bed to avoid the wet spot. Ginny crouched above her and sunk three fingers inside her. Hermione arched her back. _Yes_ . . . Ginny thrust slowly, rubbing so deeply, as Hermione worked her own clit. Her orgasm mounted quickly, but gently, and when it overwhelmed her, the pleasure was soft, relaxing, oh so good.

When Hermione had come down, she said, “Can I shag you with one of the dildos?”

Excited, Ginny scrambled from the bed. “Yeah . . . but I have a favorite. It’s foolproof.” She paused. “Not that I think you’re a fool or anything.”

Hermione laughed and stretched. She felt so good. Her hand accidently brushed the wet spot, and she grimaced. 

Ginny slipped off the pants and hit them with a series of cleaning spells. She pulled out a pale blue dildo that was curved. She stuck the dildo into the pants and helped Hermione shimmy into them.

Hermione laughed when she looked down at her own groin. It looked just so weird. Ginny pulled her on top of her and kissed her deeply. Hermione sank into the kiss, wanting to draw it out, but Ginny jerked away.

“I’m dying . . . get inside me.” Ginny Conjured up some more lube and stroked the dildo to wet it. 

Hermione was entranced. “Can I put it in your mouth first?” She blushed, not knowing how Ginny would respond. 

Ginny sucked the dildo into her mouth; she looked up at Hermione and winked. She bobbed her head a bit, but then drew away. “Yuck!” She smacked her lips. “That lube doesn’t taste so great.”

Laughing, Hermione Conjured some more and smeared it on the blue shaft. God, it would be a long time before she forgot what Ginny looked like sucking the dildo into her mouth. She got into position. “Ready?” When Ginny nodded, she thrust in slowly. Ginny was very tense beneath her. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” Ginny threw her head back. “It just feels so good.” She started rubbing her clit. “I’m already so close . . . just pound into me. Don’t hold back.”

“Okay.” Hermione was incredibly unsteady. She laid against Ginny, once again grasping her shoulders. She began thrusting hard, deep; it was difficult finding a rhythm. Ginny had made it look easy, but keeping the dildo inside took a lot of concentration. 

Ginny palmed her back, trying to push her deeper. “Faster . . . come on . . . I’m not gonna break.”

Hermione was grabbing her throat before she knew what she was doing. Ginny cried out; her eyes twisted closed. Hermione could see every freckle on her cheeks. Moaning, she pressed her face to Ginny’s neck, thrusting harder. Ginny was panting, squirming, and Hermione felt so damn powerful. Her hold on Ginny’s throat tightened. She felt animalistic, possessive, incredibly turned on. Was this how a man felt ploughing into a woman? The thought made her thrust as hard as she could, her knees slipping against the sheets.

“Yessss . . .” Ginny stilled, her face tight with pleasure. Was she coming? Hermione couldn’t tell. A moment later Ginny relaxed, sighing loudly.

“Did you come?” Hermione asked, breathless, a little awkward. Ginny nodded but didn’t open her eyes. Hermione pulled out of her and slipped off the bed to remove the pants and clean herself up. Lube and arousal smeared her thighs, her stomach.

When she returned she found Ginny asleep, her mouth hanging open a bit. Hermione cradled her in her arms and kissed her cheek. Her mind wandered. She couldn’t believe she was here. She couldn’t believe that she had gone from drinking alone in her flat and reciting poetry to keep calm to fucking Ginny Weasley with a bloody strap-on. She ran her fingers through Ginny’s incredibly soft hair. She’d always remained hopeful that one day her life would be good again . . . she just would’ve never guessed that it’d turn out to be _this_ good.

She remembered her favorite poem about hope, the poem that she’d whispered to herself like a promise. Her mouth formed over the words; they were comforting, but also a little strange. She didn’t need them anymore. 

“What are you whispering?” Ginny asked, blinking up at her sleepily.

Hermione hesitated. She didn’t know if she wanted to share this with anyone else. “It’s a poem.”

“Oh? Do you know it by heart?”

Hermione nodded and sat up, the sheets pooling around her waist. She changed her mind; she did want to share this with Ginny. “Do you want to hear it?” 

Ginny nodded, her gaze trained on Hermione.

Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes and said: “ _Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul . . . and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all . . ._ ” She opened her eyes.

Ginny was smiling softly. “Go on.” 

“Okay.” She licked her lips. “ _And sweetest in the gale is heard and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm . . ._ ” Gaining some confidence, she finished the poem with conviction: “ _I’ve heard it in the chilliest land and on the strangest sea . . . yet, never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me._ ”

“Wow,” Ginny said.

She was breathing a bit fast. “Did you understand any of it?”

“Something about a bird in a storm. What does it mean?”

“Oh.” Hermione was disappointed. Reciting the poem had made her eyes prickle and yet Ginny looked confused. “Essentially, it means . . . don’t give up hope. There’s no reason to because even in our darkest hour we can hope without it asking anything of us.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Ginny kissed her, softly, leisurely. “I’m glad you kept your hope.”

Hermione smiled. “Me too.”

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who read! Comments and kudos are appreciated. Also big thanks to my beta, Lena!
> 
> If you're interested, I'm now working on a Harry/Draco and Hermione/Female OC fic, [Shockwave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11659725/chapters/26235507).


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